Love Plus One
by Laurie M
Summary: Post- TOW The Girl From Poughkeepsie. That love is complicated is something both Rachel and Chandler know. But it's about to get more a lot more interesting for them...
1. New York Minute

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _Friends_ or any characters therein - I'm just playing with them.

**Author Note**: This is my first fic for this fandom: I'm not sure that my writing style is entirely suited to it, or that I've done justice to the characters. The story picks up from _The One With the Girl from Poughkeepsie _and the Rangers game to which Rachel and Chandler go. I have tried to keep to the canon timeline, but things will probably get altered slightly in favour of the current story. Nonetheless, I hope that you enjoy it and feedback is always welcome.

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_**LOVE PLUS ONE**_

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For someone who claimed not to be all that sports-inclined, Rachel thought, Chandler Bing certainly got into his sports - if the advice he yelled to the angry Canadians with the missing teeth was anything to go by.

'I hope you don't kiss your mother with that mouth,' she said when he dropped back into his seat. She spoke close to his ear, almost shouting over the roar of the crowd.

'Not if I can help it,' he shouted back. 'And if you heard half the stuff my mother says you'd be more worried about me- Oh, come _on_!'

Out of his seat again, gesticulating wildly as one heavily-padded figure slammed another against the barrier. Blood sprayed against the clear Plexiglas. The crowd cheered. Rachel flinched in sympathy.

'Can you _believe_ that guy? You big baby!'

'Chandler! He's lost a tooth.'

He shrugged. 'Eh.'

'You know,' she said speculatively as he settled beside her again, 'until tonight I thought your idea of sport was watching Pammy and Yasmine running along a beach.'

'Hey, they are both athletes and great artistes. Not just artists, _artistes_.'

'Whatever, Bing.'

'You know, you're not getting into the spirit of this, Green.'

'It's just-' She glanced at the rink, flinching again as another few gallons of blood sprayed across the ice and the crowd went wild. 'It's really violent.'

Chandler's eyes widened. 'That's the beauty of it. You get all the catharsis of some serious ass-kicking, without having to get hurt yourself. It's great; why do you think so many people are here? If we had to get down on the ice and do that ourselves all you'd see is a bunch of grown men cold and crying.'

'Actually, that guy over there has been crying for the last fifteen minutes.'

He looked where she was pointing. 'Oh yeah.' They both stared at the quietly sobbing man for a moment; Chandler shook himself. 'Look, you were a cheerleader, right?'

'Yes.'

'So that's all this is!' He gestured at the crowd. 'It's cheerleading ... only with expletives instead of pom-poms.'

She grinned suddenly. 'You never spent a lot of time around cheerleaders, did you?'

His head tilted, thoughtful, wistful. 'You know, it wasn't for the want of trying...'

Rachel laughed, joined in the tail-end of the roar that swept through their side of the stadium. Chandler was right about the catharsis, she thought, feeling the sudden release of the tension across her chest. When another player slammed against the barrier she didn't flinch, didn't look away; she watched the snarl of fury behind the face-guard as he turned on his opponent; and she cheered him on.

ooOoo

'I think I've permanently damaged my vocal chords.'

'Yeah, you were yelling pretty loud.'

'Only 'cos you made me,' Rachel grumbled hoarsely.

They pushed their way through the crowds. Even away from the ice the air still smelt of cold and sweat. Rachel slipped her hand into the crook of Chandler's arm; the crush of people necessitated proximity. She smiled up at him. 'You know something? I had a really good time.'

'See? What did I tell you?'

'I know, I know... Catharsis. And we catharted the hell out of that game.'

'Well, you did.'

He looked at her along sparkling slanted eyes, head tilted. She squeezed his arm lightly. It was different hanging out with Chandler than with Joey or Ross. Well, not Ross, not now, maybe one day but not now. Chandler laughed at her jokes. Not in the patronising way Ross did, or the way that Joey laughed at the joke he thought she had made instead of the one she actually had; Chandler laughed as though he understood, as though he thought that when she was trying to be funny she really was.

Their progress was halted by a contraflow of people. They stood still and Chandler noticed the way she had taken her lower lip between her teeth.

'What?'

'Nothing.'

Chandler prodded her arm. 'C'mon, you can tell me.'

'It's nothing.'

'Tell me.' A sing-song voice.

She glared at him. 'Fine. I really need to pee. Okay?'

He shook his head. 'I asked if you needed to go before we left and you said no.'

'I didn't need to go then.' She shifted uncomfortably. 'Seriously, though, I really, really need to pee.'

'Bathroom's right over there.'

She screwed up her face. 'I don't really like public restrooms. And here?'

'Can you hold it in 'til we get home?'

'Uh...' She bit her lip.

'Okay, off you go.'

She grimaced, still chewing her lip, then gave in, slid her hand back out of the comfort of its resting place. 'Oh, while I'm there, will you get me a soda?'

He stared at her. 'My God, woman!'

'What? I need to pee, and I'm also thirsty.'

Chandler sighed, shook his head again. 'Fine. One soda coming right up.'

He watched her thread her way through the crowds, join the queue. She was dressed like most of the other girls but she still stood out somehow; she always stood out; like the lone gazelle stuck in the middle of a herd of cows. Chandler kept one eye on her, moved across to the foodstall. Crying Guy was there, he noticed. Still crying. Maybe he was trying to salt his popcorn with his own tears.

He glanced back at Rachel; she was shifting from foot to foot in the queue. Maybe he'd buy her some chocolates to go with her soda. Girls liked chocolates. And nothing said 'Sorry for messing up your love-life' quite like a box of concession stand chocolates. He shuffled along in his own queue, another glance at Rachel. She'd been joined by an extremely tall girl with purple hair. More shuffling. Crying Guy was looking in his direction. Chandler tried to avoid eye contact. Look back at Rachel and Tall Girl.

My God, he thought, she is freakishly tall. If there were a Tall Girl contest, she would win. Imagine kissing her; you'd get a crick in your neck. Why am I thinking about kissing her? I have a girlfriend. A great girlfriend. I love my girlfriend. Kathy. I love Kathy. Seriously, you would dislocate your neck trying to kiss that girl. I am a terrible, terrible boyfriend.

He looked away from Tall Girl and-

Oh, great. Crying Guy.

And he was still crying.

'She broke my heart, man,' Crying Guy told him.

In a stadium with thousands of people, Chandler wondered, why pick on me? Do weirdoes have some kind of radar and just track me down?

'It's like she ripped open my chest and tore my heart right out.'

Chandler stared with polite disinterest past Crying Guy's left ear.

'Have you ever had your heart ripped out?'

'Not lately,' Chandler said, resigned to being the confidante of a crying freak in the middle of a hockey stadium's foyer.

'This used to be our place. Oh man!' Tears welled up as he tilted his head to catch the music blaring from the sound-system. 'This used to be our song.'

Chandler squinted at him. 'Your song was _Eye of the Tiger_?'

Words were lost in an incomprehensible wail.

'Yeah, okay, bye-bye.'

Crying Guy ambled away, still clutching his bucket of popcorn.

If anyone were to look up 'freak-magnet' in the dictionary, Chandler thought gloomily, they'd find a picture of me. It was like some sort of anti-skill and it was all his very own. He looked back at the queue, found Rachel again and found her staring at him. He smiled at her and all the lines in her face softened.

Yes, he would definitely buy her the chocolates.

ooOoo

Rachel watched with amusement as the guy who had sobbed his way through the game closed in on Chandler. She'd almost feel sorry for her friend, except that the look of barely-suppressed horror on his face was just too damn funny.

The girl behind her bumped against her.

'Sorry.'

Why was it, Rachel wondered furiously, that when people bumped into her _she _ was always the one who ended up apologising.

'No, my bad.' The girl grinned apologetically. One of those tall, willowy creatures who always made Rachel feel short and dumpy by comparison. Pretty, too. Except that her roots were showing and it was a bad dye job. A small consolation but Rachel took it.

'Your boyfriend's hot,' the girl said suddenly.

'What?'

The girl jerked her chin in Chandler's direction. 'He's your boyfriend, right?'

'Uh-'

She blew out a breath. 'The hot ones are always either gay or taken.'

'Well, he's not gay.'

Eyebrows - also purple - were raised expressively. 'See?'

Chandler Bing: Hot Guy. Rachel looked over at where he was still trying to inch away from the crying man - who looked like he was trying to cry all over Chandler. Chandler with the sarcastic comments; Chandler with the sweater vests; Chandler, apparently, the hot guy. She studied him. She'd grown so used to him, to seeing him all the time that it been too long since she had really _looked_ and-

He turned and looked at her and he smiled.

And she forgot that she was standing in the middle of a crowd of a few thousand people. There were no other people. Chandler Bing was smiling at her. It caught her behind her ribs, around her heart, squeezing, and she couldn't catch her breath. She felt light-headed.

But it's _Chandler_, she told herself fiercely. This can't happen. There are endless reasons why this can't happen.

Because even back in the day when they'd first met he'd still just been Monica's geeky older brother's good-looking friend. God, because he was Ross' best friend. Because he was one of _her_ best friends. Because of Kathy. Because Chandler was in love with Kathy.


	2. Thank You For Smoking

'Chandler!'

'Gah!' He leant against the doorframe, one hand pressed against his chest. His hair stood up in unwieldy tufts.

'I thought you were past the sweatpants phase.'

He peeled himself off the doorframe, padded across the apartment holding his dressing-gown closed. 'It's Saturday. Can't a man spend Saturday in his sweats if he wants to? What are you doing here, anyway? You don't live here anymore.'

'Joey stole our food,' Rachel said, 'so I'm stealing it back.'

'Fair enough.' He collapsed onto a Barcalounger, stared moodily into the middle-distance.

Rachel watched him for a moment, closed the refrigerator door. 'Are you okay?'

A grunt. Then: 'I just miss her. You know?'

'Oh, sweetie...' She crossed the floor, perched on the arm of his chair. After a moment he leant into her, his head in the crook of her arm. His hair felt glossy, impossibly soft between her fingers.

'I keep thinking, if I just call her- I shouldn't call her. Should I?'

'I-'

'I mean, it's my fault, really. I was the one who got all paranoid and crazy.' He took a breath. 'I'm the one who brought up the whole thing about her going with me while she was still with Joey.' He screwed his eyes shut. 'I still can't believe I said that.'

There were lines drawn deep between his eyebrows; there was a hardness in his face that she wasn't used to seeing and she didn't like it. This wasn't him; and seeing this person hurt her. She ran her fingers gently over the lines and he leant into her a little more.

'Chandler, look at me. I said look at me! Okay, so maybe you got a bit freaked out but that doesn't mean that what she did was your fault. I mean, it didn't take much for her to sleep with some other guy. One stupid fight? Some girls are just like that. Let me tell you something: some girls are jerks. Just like guys are. And if you called her- Well, would you really want to go back to that? To someone you can't and probably shouldn't trust?'

He peered up at her. 'I'm going to go with "no" on that one. But I still-'

'Miss her. I know.'

They sat.

'Do you ever think you'll die alone?'

'God, Chandler, are you always like this after a break-up?'

He shrugged. 'Dunno. Haven't had that many.' His eyes closed again. 'God, I suck with women.'

'Sweetie, that isn't true.'

'Oh please. In the pantheon of Guys Women Go For, you will not find the name of Chandler Bing.'

Which proved, Rachel thought, her point about women being jerks. 'Plenty of women go for you... What about that Italian girl, uh, Aurora?'

'She was married. And she had, like, ten boyfriends. I was just one of many.'

'Okay, okay... Well, Kathy liked you so much she broke up with Joey to be with you.'

'Yeah, and she liked me so much she slept with someone else while were still going out.'

'Right, so that was a bad example... Okay, Janice-'

'Oh my God! That's it.' He leapt up, dislodging Rachel. 'That is _so_ it.'

'What are you...'

He was climbing through the window. He was climbing through the window onto the balcony. He was on the balcony and hanging over the edge and-

'Chandler! _Chandler_!'

She scrambled after him, caught one knee sharply against the sill and smothered the accompanying cry of pain, grabbed a handful of dressing-gown, heaved him backwards until he crashed against the window. He stared at her, hair wilder than ever, teeth clamped around a cigarette. There was a pack in one hand, a lighter in the other. Their hiding place evidently the ledge just beneath the balcony. 'What? For the love of God, what?'

Rachel pushed the hair out of her eyes. She could feel her chest shaking. 'You- I thought-' She should have just pushed him over instead of trying to pull him back. Anger was an almost preferable replacement for the fear. 'You're _smoking_?'

'Yes, yes, I am smoking; you're damn right I'm smoking.' He flicked the lighter, flame leaping up. Rachel snatched the cigarette from between his lips. They remained pursed for a moment, the flame still dancing and reflected in his eyes. 'Plenty more where that came from.'

Another cigarette in; another swipe to remove it. And a third. And-

'Will you stop?'

'No. I am not going to stand by and watch you slowly kill yourself. Chandler, you gave up smoking.'

'So what? I like smoking. I'm a smoker. I'm a big fat happy smoker.'

'You think it looks good? You think it's attractive? Well, let me show you something, buster.' Rachel grabbed the lighter, another cigarette, lit it gingerly and inhaled. It felt like swallowing a pack of razor blades. Her eyes watered. She coughed helplessly. 'See?'

Chandler watched the creamy folds of smoke between her lips, the haze that rose before her face. 'A hot girl smoking. Yeah, that's really really ... hot.'

'Are you serious?'

He nodded, dreamy. 'Will you take another puff?'

'Sure- No!' Her eyes narrowed. 'You're fantasising about me smoking, aren't you?'

'Uh...'

The fact that most men were so easily distracted was something that Rachel actually found quite endearing. 'How about me and Chantal-the-stripper _both_ smoking?'

The expression on his face turned to one of reverence. 'Rach, you inspire the best fantasies. Ever.'

'Gee, thanks.' She stubbed out the cigarette.

They stood side-by-side, leaning against the balcony, taking in the mid-morning air that at their level was almost free of exhaust fumes; they spent a few minutes watching Ugly Naked Guy wrestle with his new Spacehopper.

'Twenty bucks says that hopper doesn't last the day.'

Rachel smiled, shook her head. 'No bet.'

She studied his profile out of the corner of her eyes.

'You know what? This is all Crying Guy's fault.'

She started. 'What? Who?'

'That guy who was crying at the Rangers game. You know, Crying Guy.'

'Oh, yeah, of course.' She frowned at Ugly Naked Guy's windows. 'Uh, why?'

'He asked me if I'd ever had my heart ripped out and I said, "Oh, not lately", and now here I am' -he thumped his chest- 'heart ripped _right_ out. It's like-like Karma. Really, really crappy Karma. Ow.'

'Hit yourself too hard?'

'Just a little bit, yeah. '

Rachel bumped her shoulder against his; he looked at her and smiled in that way he had of smiling. The hardness had gone from his face. She put her head on his shoulder. Just as a friend, she told herself, just because he needs someone to be friend. She can be a good friend.

He kissed the top of her head and his lips lingered against her hair.

'There's a party at work next week,' she said, 'your should come with me.'

'Uh...'

Rachel raised her head. 'Hey, I went with you to your Christmas work thing.'

'Yeah, but, Rach... A Bloomingdale's party?'

'There will be hot girls there ... and some of them even smoke.'

His face went back to reverent. 'Rachel Karen Green, you know the way to a man's heart. Well,' he smiled, 'this man's heart.'

No man's eyes, she thought, had any right being quite that shade of blue. And no man, certainly, had any right looking at her quite so intently without intending to do anything about it. She looked away.

'So, you'll go with me?'

She saw him shrug. 'Eh, why not? There's free alcohol, right?'

'God, yes.'

'Then I'll go.'

She made herself look at him again. 'Great. Only...'

Chandler's eyes narrowed. 'What?'

'Can I dress you?'

He took in a breath through his nose that seemed to go all the way to his feet. 'I've actually been dressing myself for years now.'

'No, I mean- Okay, you totally rock a sweater-vest like no-one else, but...'

'Yes?'

'These are fashion people, sweetie.'

'And you're saying that sweater-vests are not fashion?'

'Not since about nineteen-fifty-six. Though you totally-'

'Rock them - you said.'

He looked amused. It was good that he looked amused.

'Okay, look, why don't we get some lunch and then we can go shopping and I can get you all-'

'Prettied up?'

'Chandler!'

He laughed. 'Okay, okay. But isn't that like a regular work day for you? We have lunch, you shop for someone?'

'Yeah, but this would be shopping for someone I actually like.'

Maybe he didn't notice the heat that sprang into her cheeks; maybe he didn't notice the way that suddenly she couldn't quite meet his eyes. Maybe he was just being kind and pretending he hadn't heard the way her voice had broken slightly.

'Where do you want to go for lunch?'

Rachel tossed her hair over her shoulder, straightened her spine until it felt like she had steel running through it. 'Let me get dressed and we'll decide when we're out.'

'Okay. See you in twenty? Thirty?' He rolled his eyes. 'An hour?'

She grinned. 'Great.' She started to climb back through the window; halfway through she twisted around. 'Hey. You won't die alone.'

His smile was lop-sided, lazy; his eyes glittered a warm sapphirine. 'Yeah, I know - I'll always have Joey.'

ooOoo

Across the hall, Rachel was greeted by Monica, her arms spread wide, mid-way through a lament no-one had been there to hear.

'-and I hate that stupid switch that doesn't do anything; and I _hate_ the refrigerator light that only works half the time; and-'

'I really hate Kathy.'

Monica stopped, arms still spread. 'Where did that come from?'

'Huh?'

'You hate Kathy?'

'Did I say that out loud?'

Monica's eyebrows climbed higher. 'Uh, yeah.'

'Oh. Well, I do. Chandler's been so miserable since they broke up- How could she _do_ that to him?'

The brunette sighed, joined Rachel at the table. 'I don't know. But-'

'But what?'

'Well... He did kind of, you know, get all _Chandler-y_ about it.'

'What does that mean?'

Monica's lips pushed together, in and out, then: 'I mean... I mean the way he thought Kathy was cheating on him-'

'She _was_-'

'I know! But she wasn't before he thought she was.' Rachel stared at her; Monica shifted in her seat. 'Remember what it was like when Ross was all over you because of Mark?'

Rachel blew out a breath, waved a hand. 'That was totally different. That went on for weeks - months! Chandler and Kathy had one stupid fight and she ran out on him, she betrayed him. She had no reason to cheat on him-'

'You know Ross isn't here to hear this speech, right?'

They stared at each other for a moment, Rachel's mouth still hanging open. 'I wasn't thinking about Ross. This has nothing to do with- I was talking about our friend who is-is in _pain_ and needs us. And why does everyone think I'm so hung up on Ross?'

Monica held up her hands. 'Okay-'

'And why are you taking Kathy's side?'

'I'm not!'

'Well... Okay.'

There was silence. Each girl stared in opposite directions. Monica started to fidget, fingers restless against the table-top; she was sniffing the air; her head inclined towards Rachel, eyes narrowing.

'Have you been smoking?'

'Well, Chandler-'

'Oh my God, Chandler is smoking? In our apartment?'

'No, and it was out on the balcony anyhow. And he didn't actually get to smoke.'

'So, what, you did it for him?'

'Monica...' Rachel took a breath. 'Just let it go.'

'Sure.'

She was still twitching, eyes straying longingly to the cans of air-freshener neatly lined up on the kitchen-counter.

'Mon...'

'I'm fine! I'm not going anywhere. See? This is me not going over there.' Monica clasped her hands together, tight. 'You, uh, you want to get some brunch?'

'Oh! Oh...' Rachel smiled, the apology half-hearted. 'I have a lunch date.'

'Oh?' Monica leant forward.

'Yeah.' Rachel stood. 'So, uh, so I better go shower and get changed.'

Monica watched her cross the floor to her bedroom. 'Who with? Rach?'

Rachel hesitated. 'Oh, you know, just some guy.'


	3. Worship The Trousers That Cling To Him

The cubicle, with its not very flattering lighting and dark wood panelling, was oddly comforting. Not so the reflection that greeted him in the mirror. Chandler stared at himself.

'Come on out,' Rachel's disembodied voice floated through from the other side of the curtain, 'let me have a look.'

'No.'

'Chandler...'

'No!'

'Oh, come one, that is some great stuff I gave you.'

'Yeah, when I said "no pink", what I really meant was _no pink_.'

'Pink's a very in colour this season.' She sounded indignant. He hated it when girls sounded indignant. It always made him think that he should do what they wanted. And that had never ended well. 'A lot of guys are wearing it.'

He removed the tie and the shirt, started on the belt with the ludicrous buckle. 'I don't care. If I wanted to wear pink, I'd go back to Vegas and re-join my dad's burlesque act.'

A pause.

'Re-join?'

'Story for another day, Rach.' He needed to start going to the gym again, he decided; and this time he'd actually go. And, hopefully, not end up with a joint bank account with Ross. And he really should cancel that. He tossed the clothes over the top of the dividing curtain.

'Oh... I wanted to see how they looked on.'

'Just get me something else to wear, or I'm coming out of here naked - and neither one of us would enjoy that.' There was silence, and then it became a long silence. 'Rachel? Are you still there?'

'Yeah! Yuh, I'm, uh, I'm still here.'

Great, he sighed inwardly, he'd given her a repellant thought. A thought so bad it had actually deprived her of speech for nearly a minute.

Naked Rachel, on the other hand, was a non-repellant thought. One of those images he tried hard not to think about, but the memory would surface at unexpected moments. In the middle of a meeting and suddenly it would be the tiny droplets of water that had clung to her skin; on a date with some girl and it was the perfect curve of her breasts sloping down to her toned, tiny waist; drifting off to sleep and it was the way her hair fell across her face and smelt of vanilla and coconut and the way her eyes got that sleepy, unfocused look and-

And that was not Naked Rachel, that was just Rachel.

And she was on the other side of the curtain.

Think about something else, he told himself fiercely, think about anything else.

'Okay, I've got some more things for you to try.'

Chandler groaned. Everything she said sounded like an invitation. WENUS, think of the WENUS and everything will be okay. WENUS, spreadsheets, numbers, Rachel hanging on his arm while they walked to Bloomingdale's after lunch, her eyes squinting against the sun and-

'Chandler?'

'What? I was thinking about the WENUS!' He thrust his head through the gap between the curtain and the wall, holding the fabric tight against his chin, and found Rachel's face, eyes round with surprise, close to his. Close enough to catch the scent of vanilla and coconut.

'Okay... You want to try these on for me?' She held up a few hangers.

'Sure.'

A pause.

'Uh, do you want to take them?'

'Sure.' Another pause. Chandler snaked one arm through the gap, pulling them back through while still trying to keep the curtain resolutely closed.

'And I want to see them on you this time!'

His fingers felt thick, clumsy, while he battled with the shirt buttons. No, they felt thicker, clumsier than usual.

You've just had a break-up, he told himself, you've just had a break-up and you'd got used to having a girlfriend and now you're fixating on the first girl you come across. Pull yourself together, man! God, I should slap me right now. Does it hurt as much if you slap yourself? I guess you'd end up pulling the punch. I bet Joey would know.

Chandler tugged the jacket on and looked at himself in the mirror, turned his head from side-to-side, frowned at himself. He didn't look entirely ridiculous.

'How are you getting on in there?'

'Uh, okay...'

'If you don't let me look, I'm pulling back this curtain on the count of three. One. Two-'

'Okay!'

Chandler pulled back the curtain, metal rings scraping along the pole. Rachel's eyes wandered over him; she laughed slightly.

'You certainly know how to strike a pose.'

He grimaced. 'Runs in the family.'

'Oh, right, your mom.' Nora Bing was one lady who knew how to make an entrance.

'Uh, yeah, her too. My dad's the one who really nails it, though.'

Rachel's head tilted. 'You know, you're a lot less screwed up than you ought to be.'

'Huh, shows how much you know.' He frowned. 'Wait, that came out wrong.'

She smiled, took a step back and looked him over again. 'That looks really great.'

'Really?'

'Yes, really. The shirt brings out the colour of your eyes.'

He glanced at himself. 'My God! My eyes are blue!'

Rachel's lips thinned. He offered her a smile by way of apology; he plucked at the shirt. 'Don't you think it could do with-'

'Chandler, if you say "sweater-vest" I swear to God I'll beat you to death with this clothes-hanger.' Her eyes narrowed; she must scare the hell out of her clients, he thought. 'It just needs...' She advanced on him; he retreated backwards into the cubicle and she crowded in after him, half-drawing the curtain against the man passing by in the corridor who peered in at them with interest.

'Turn around,' she ordered.

He turned, facing the mirror. She stood behind him, raising herself on tip-toe, her arms sliding around him and - dear God! - he could feel the soft swell of her breasts pressing against his back. Her fingers were nimble against the stiff shirt-buttons and the rigid bindings around the holes. She was studying him in the mirror, her face serious. She was lovely when she smiled, when she laughed; but it was in the moments when she was thoughtful, absorbed, that really brought out the delicacy, the fine lines of her face. Then she was truly beautiful. She worked the buttons, undoing the top two and her fingernails scraped against his skin. Her hair tickled the side of his neck and her breath came in steady warm pulses.

'There,' she murmured, 'that looks really good.' Her chin rested on his shoulder, eyes dreamy. The mirror versions of themselves did look pretty good, he thought, almost like they'd go together. Rachel moved one hand, running it through his hair until it stood in soft tousled spikes and the firm length of her body was pressed against him.

WENUS! Doug's weekly pep talks; Sandy from accounts whose year-round allergies left her with a permanently red and running nose; Ross and his air purifier. Ross. Yup, there it was, the requisite bucket of cold water. Ross, who had practically stamped 'Property of Ross' all over Rachel. Ross, his best friend, who had been in love with her since forever. And there were rules about that sort of thing.

ooOoo

For a few moments Rachel had allowed herself the fantasy. For a few moments their reflection had given her a picture of a happy couple. And there had been one moment when he had looked at her in a certain way and she had thought that maybe, maybe he would kiss her; maybe this would be the start. And it had felt so good - right, natural - to have him in her arms ... until he had shot out of them, bundled her out of the cubicle and gabbled at her.

'Okay, so these are the winners, I'll get changed, you wait there, I'll be in here changing, and you-you'll be out there.'

Chandler yanked the curtain back into place. She could hear the rustle of fabric, the clink of a belt-buckle, and the occasional something that sounded like him muttering to himself. Probably bemoaning the fact, Rachel thought miserably, that his friend had just committed what amounted to sexual harassment on his person. Well, he'd certainly be seeing his gal-pal in a different light now; only instead of the 'potential girlfriend' light, it would be the 'maniac who tries to feel you up in changing-rooms' light. Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid... She emphasised each thought, beating the back of her head against the wall behind her.

Stupid, stupid-

'Hey, Rach, are you mad at the wall or at your head?'

Her eyes popped open. Chandler was watching her curiously, concerned, head slightly tilted to one side.

'What? This? No.' She smiled brightly; her cheeks ached. 'This, uh, this is a relaxation technique. Very important during retail therapy, you know, so you can get the, uh, the whole ... therapeutic experience.'

'By trying to make a hole in a wall with your head?'

'It's based on shiatsu massage,' she said, trying to draw back any shreds of dignity that remained.

'Did Phoebe tell you about that technique?' he asked slowly.

'Yes!' She cleared her throat. 'Yes, she did.'

He nodded. 'You know, if she tries it herself that would explain so much.'

Rachel laughed weakly. 'Yeah...'

They walked back out into the open space of the shop floor, keeping a careful distance between them. It was companionable, though; and Chandler did still make her laugh, inventing stories about the shop mannequins.

'Okay, see that one over there? Brad-'

'Brad?'

'Square jaw, vacant look - he is absolutely a Brad.'

'Okay.'

'Anyhow, Brad is planning on killing that guy over there so he can steal his girlfriend.' He considered the mannequins in question. 'Actually, reverse that: Brad is planning on killing her so he can steal her boyfriend.'

At some point he offered her his arm again and they walked along together, through Bloomingdale's, out onto the city streets, working their way through the crowds. He kept hold of her even then, sometimes angling himself to shield her from the human traffic coming in the opposite direction; she felt safe like that, protected. Funny, she thought, that for all the jokes and comments - mainly made by himself - about his general ineptitude, Chandler was the one who seemed the most at home, the one best equipped to deal with the city. It still came rushing in on her at times; sometimes she still wanted to hide and then cry and then run away and not face any of it.

Chandler kept her arm tight through his and steered them towards the edge of the park. Calmer there, the late-afternoon sun glancing the tops of the trees and streaking the clouds with red.

'Want to walk through park before we get coffee?'

'Sure.'

The air felt cooler, cleaner, carried the scent of earth and leaves and damp grass. The roar of traffic was reduced to a high hum that faded the deeper in they went. Almost possible to pretend that they weren't in the city at all.

Rachel took in a breath, held it, closed her eyes, turned her face up to the low sun and released the breath, a slow stream. Chandler's arm, still linked through hers, felt strong and steady. She would have sworn that when she'd opened her eyes she'd caught him watching her like he was pretending he wasn't. She glanced at him; he was staring ahead.

They followed the path that took them to the road that would lead back to Central Perk and he stopped, turned to face her.

'I, uh...' He pulled something out of one of the bags of clothes she had made him buy. 'I wanted to give you this. I was going to give it to you later but' -he shrugged- 'Y'know, by then I would have convinced myself that you wouldn't want it. I just wanted to say thanks, really; you've been so great...'

She stared at the flat orange box and the familiar insignia.

'If you don't like it you can always return it, you know, store credit. I won't be offended, so you don't have to pretend.'

The words were addressed somewhere slightly to the right of her head. Rachel opened the box, pulled out the bright square of silk that seemed to glow, jewel-like, in the fading light.

'Chandler, it's - it's beautiful.'

'Really?' He looked relieved. More than that. More than delight, even. He looked lit up. 'Here.' He slid it from her hands, draped it around her neck. 'There. It, uh,' his smile widened, but still that uncertainty, 'it brings out the colour of your eyes.'

Rachel laughed a little. 'Thank you. You didn't have to do get me anything.'

Hands in his pockets, he shrugged awkwardly. 'I wanted to.'

'I love it. I really do. I-' She started forward, stopped herself, pushed down her own doubts, took a step forward and put arms around his neck. 'Thank you.'

'It was my pleasure,' he said, soft.

Rachel buried her face in the curve of his shoulder, breathed him in. The slightly chemical scent where his jacket had been dry-cleaned; laundry detergent (Monica's, of course); his aftershave, fresh and light; and behind that a scent that was warm and familiar and-and _Chandler-y_. She kept her eyes closed, feeling the way they fitted into each other, the way the warmth from his body seeped into hers. His hands slid down to her waist, resting there lightly; one thumb stroked the edge of her ribcage. She raised her head.

Maybe now, maybe this is where it all starts; maybe now when everything is getting so blurry around the edges and it feels like I'm melting into him and he's looking at me like that and-

'Hey, guys!'

They stared at each other still for a moment, then Chandler gently released her, stooped to pick up his shopping bags abandoned on the sidewalk.

Monica and Joey caught them up, oblivious to the stilted smiles and sudden clumsiness of their friends. Rachel fiddled with the clasp on her purse and gave up on trying to open it. Chandler dropped one of his bags twice, looked pained in response to his flatmate's whoops of amusement. Monica linked her arm through Rachel's.

'So, how was your lunch date?'

'Rachel had a date?' Joey grinned at her, always on the look-out for salacious details.

'Yeah, she has a mystery man she won't tell me anything about.' Monica squeezed her arm a little too hard.

Out of the corner of her eye, Rachel saw Chandler's head turn to her slightly, curious again.

'It was great.' She looked at him fully and caught the flicker of surprise across his face. 'It was really, really great.'


	4. Punch Drunk

Chandler huddled in the doorway beside the stained metal brazier that served as the communal ashtray up on the roof. It should have been a straight-forward thing, easily figured out. Just a casual question or two.

Hey, Rach, was that a date on Saturday? We had a date? A great date?

He lit a fresh cigarette off the butt of another, dragged the smoke into his lungs.

It had not, of course, been a date.

Most probably she had just preferred people not to know that she had spent her Saturday with him as though she had nothing better to do.

But then there had been The Look...

Why the hell had he bought menthol cigarettes? He hated them. And if he was going to smoke, he'd damn well better enjoy it. He crushed the remains of the cigarette into the tray, stared at the red embers fading to ash.

Was Rachel always so hard to catch on her own? or was it just because he'd never tried before that he'd never noticed? He could swear that he was always meeting her in the hall, in the lobby, on the stairs. Ever since Saturday he'd seen her only in the middle of the rest of their friends; their friends were great, he liked the fact that he had such great friends, but for that weekend and the days since he had wished whole-heartedly that they would just disappear. For a while. Like they could be on a break.

Oh. My. God.

Chandler glanced at his watch, headed back down to his office and spent five minutes staring at the clothes bag that had been hanging at the back of his door all day. He had thought, at first, that he would go home after work, change there, pick Rachel up and take her to the party. But that might make the non-date more of a date. Or the date more of a non-date, he wasn't sure anymore.

In the executive washroom he changed into the clothes she had picked out, raked his hands through his hair and remembered the way hers had felt doing that, her nails scraping lightly against his scalp.

He went back up to the roof, took out the pack of hated menthol cigarettes and smoked two in a row.

ooOoo

Rachel applied the eyeliner carefully, studied the effect. Glamorous, but not slutty. That would describe most of Chandler's girlfriends. Even Janice, whose fashion sense was certainly the most ... noticeable ... had never looked slutty. Rachel had never really believed in dressing for a man but it never did any harm to tweak things a little in one particular direction. And fashion was her thing, after all; and she could do glamour.

She could even, if she were honest, do slutty.

She blotted her lipstick, stepped out into the living room. Monica looked up from her ... well, whatever she was cleaning and raised her eyebrows.

'Wow.'

Rachel beamed at her. 'Thanks. You think this looks okay?'

'I think you'll give Chandler a heart-attack. It is still Chandler you're going with, right?'

'Uh-huh.'

Monica leant against the counter. 'A-ha...'

'A-ha, what? No, no "a-ha".'

'A-ha, your mystery date guy is going to be there. He is, isn't he? I knew it!' Her eyes blazed.

'No,' Rachel said smoothly. 'He- he isn't anyone I work with. I just felt like getting dressed up.'

'Oh.' Monica's shoulders sagged. She straightened, went back to her latest project.

Rachel tweaked at the long black dress and became aware of the heaviness of the silence. 'Mon?'

'Mm.'

'Are you okay?'

'I'm fine.' She was staring far too hard at the thing in her hands.

Rachel crossed the floor, stood opposite her on the other side of the breakfast bar. 'Sweetie, what's wrong?'

A shrug. 'Nothing.'

It was Rachel's shoulders that sagged. 'Monica, come on. I know when something's wrong.'

Monica looked up at her, her face closed-off; she shrugged again. 'We just used to, y'know, we'd tell each other stuff. Look, I'm not trying to pry and I know it's not really any of my business but ... but I'm used to us talking. I'm used to hearing all about your new crushes and-and now you won't even tell me his name.' A pause. 'Did I do something wrong? Have I offended you or something?'

Rachel felt her throat tighten, pressure behind her eyes. Dammit! She blinked rapidly. 'Monica, honey, no, of course not.' She took hold of her friend's hands, stilling their restless movement. They felt so cold. 'It isn't- It isn't you, really. I just' -a breath- 'I don't know where I am with this guy, I don't even know if he likes me and until I do I-I can't really talk about it. This isn't like the other crushes.'

She didn't get a picture of herself and one of him and make them kiss; she didn't play around with their names on pieces of paper and surround them with little hearts. Instead she hurt when he hurt and she smiled when he did and she wanted him. She just wanted him.

'It sounds like it could be pretty serious,' Monica said.

'I...' Rachel released a breath. 'I think it could be. I don't know. Are-are we okay?'

Monica smiled, the fine lines around her eyes deepening. 'Of course.'

'Good.' She squeezed Monica's hands, started to move around the bar to collect her coat and purse.

'Hey, Rach. I hope it works out with The Guy. You deserve it.'

And she caught her breath again, caught Monica in a hug. 'Thank you.' The two girls held onto each other and- Dammit! Rachel blinked rapidly again, clearing her vision.

ooOoo

It was the first time, Chandler thought with some pride, that he had managed to grab two glasses of champagne off a passing tray without the manoeuvre descending into farce. Both he and the waiter were still upright, the tray was still balanced, the glasses were still full. He passed one to Rachel and she smiled, touching her glass against his.

'Thanks. And thanks for coming with me.'

'Hey, anytime.'

They stood on the edge of a crowd, drank their champagne and Chandler allowed the alcohol to seep through and work its wonderful relaxing magic. He glanced at Rachel once, twice and decided that that would not help with the relaxation. She had been right about the hot girls of Bloomingdale's but none of them, not one of them, could compare with her. Not even on a bad day, but definitely not in that dress.

When they had met and she had slipped off her coat his mouth had managed to stammer out, 'You look great,' but his scrambled brain had said _'Flargle...'_

It was still scrambled. He was counting on the champagne to help.

He worked out the odds of her having got herself done up like that for his benefit and decided they were not in his favour. Still, it was nice to escort her around the room and catch the occasional envying glance of men who clearly wondered what was so special about_ him_ that he'd got _her_.

There isn't and I haven't but for tonight it's fun to pretend.

ooOoo

'That's a great story you've got there, Mr Waltham,' Rachel said, fanning her face with one hand. She watched his retreating back with relief, turned her head and found Chandler watching her speculatively. 'What?'

'The way you laughed-'

'Oh,' the hand was waved, 'that was just my work laugh.'

His face brightened. 'I have one too!'

'You do?'

'Believe me, it's the only way to get through _my_ work parties. Actually, it's the only way to get through my work.'

'You really hate that job, don't you?'

'God, yes. Why, don't you hate yours?'

'No, I love it!' She bit the inside of her lower lip. 'So, you don't actually enjoy-'

'Transponsting?' His voice was coated with sarcasm.

'I was going to say statistical analysis and data reconfiguration.'

'I-' He stared at her. Rachel felt colour washed across her face; she lowered her eyes, raised them again.

'I felt kinda bad that none of us actually know what it is you do, so-' she tossed her hair away from her shoulders '-I rang your company and asked for a copy of the company directory and looked you up and _voila_!' Her head tilted to one side. 'There are a lot of people that you can tell what to do.'

Chandler shrugged. 'I can tell them, doesn't mean that they'll actually do it.' He was watching her and she felt the heat rise in her cheeks again. Rachel frowned, chasing an errant piece of fruit around her glass with a cocktail stick. 'You could have just asked me what I do.'

'Yeah, but that would have been too easy.'

And then he was smiling, a slow soft smile, and the colour of his eyes shifted through shades of aqua. 'That's so sweet. I can't believe you did that.'

'Well, y'know...' Even her neck was burning. Everything was burning. 'I, uh, I don't remember your work laugh from when I went to the Christmas party.'

Chandler blinked, shook himself. 'Oh. That's probably because Doug spent most of the party in the stationary cupboard with two temps.' He shrugged. 'Everyone got to have a reasonable time and leave early as a result.'

'Oh...' She drained her glass. 'Let's hear it.'

'Huh?'

'You heard mine, now I get to hear yours.'

His head tilted back. 'You know, I think I've played this game before only it was more visual...'

'Stop stalling, Bing.'

'Okay...' Chandler glanced around, took hold of her elbow and steered her behind a potted-palm. They leant together, faces close. 'Right, get ready.'

'Ooh, good laugh!' she said when he was finished. 'It doesn't sound too fake, but you don't sound too much of a kiss-ass.'

'Yeah, it took months to get it right. Where did you perfect yours?'

'Uh, Barry's parents, actually.'

'Oh?'

'Yeah, I really didn't like them much. Then again, I didn't even like Barry all that much.'

'Heartless,' he murmured.

She was serious suddenly. 'Do you think that?'

The laughter vanished from his face. 'God, no! Of course not; Rach, it was-it was just a joke. Bad joke, I'm sorry.' He touched her arm lightly, his fingers warm against her bare skin. Musician's fingers, she thought, long, well-shaped and strong. She imagined them-

No, she didn't. She mustn't. It wasn't made easier when he kept his hand on her.

In their little alcove sheltered by the palm tree, they smiled at one another. Chandler dropped his hand. 'Do you want another drink?'

Her smile faltered for a moment. 'Sure.'

ooOoo

Over at the buffet table he noticed that his hands were shaking slightly. He needed a cigarette in the worst possible way. Well, he'd wanted to catch Rachel on her own and had certainly managed _that._ But alone in such proximity had been a mistake. Not that she had seemed to mind.

_Flargle_.

Along with the familiar sensations of dizziness, sweat and mild panic.

_Flargle, flargle._

Especially when he kept catching glimpses of her long tanned legs through the slit in her dress.

Chandler made himself look away from her, exchanged a few words with the vivaciously pretty girl standing next to him. She laughed at everything he said, placed her hand on his arm and introduced herself.

'Your colleagues are really friendly,' Chandler told Rachel when he rejoined her. She looked at him, hard; there was a stiffness in her face.

'Friendly, yeah, that's one word for her.' She drank down half the glass in one gulp. Off Chandler's look she said clearly, 'She was flirting with you.'

'Really?'

He looked back at the girl. She caught his eye and smiled again.

'See? She's doing it right now!'

'Huh.' He looked back at Rachel. Some of the stiffness had been replaced by puzzlement.

'Do you really not get when women are flirting with you?'

'I get it!' Defensive. 'Sometimes...' She still stared at him, shook her head slightly. He shrugged. 'Okay, I'm not great at reading signs and when they're subtle ... it's hard, y'know, for a guy to always tell what those signs mean. I mean, sometimes you think a girl is flirting with you ... and she's not. So... Yeah. Subtle doesn't always work.'

'Okay.' Rachel looked thoughtful, nodded. 'Okay, so you want something obvious. What?'

He grimaced. 'Obvious girls... That's just tacky.'

Puzzlement was melted entirely by exasperation. 'Chandler...'

He took some of his own drink and nodded, resigned. 'I know, I know. I'm pathetic.'

'No, sweetie, you're not; you're ... okay, maybe a _little_ hard work, but, you know... That can be good.'

His eyebrows went up. 'Uh-huh.'

'Some girls like hard.'

His lips curved. 'Oh, they do, huh?'

'Yeah, they really do.'

A beat, then her eyes widened.

'I did _not_ mean-'

He laughed helplessly, hunched his shoulder up as she rained a series of slaps across his arm. 'C'mon, if you give me an opening like that what do you expect me to do?'

'You see-you see?' She speared her olive, bit down on it. 'This is why we hate talking to men. You try to have a serious conversation and you get ... _that_.'

'Okay, I'm sorry.' He rested his hand on her shoulder, ran it down her arm. He was not sorry about that. 'No more jokes.'

Rachel looked at him. 'No more jokes?'

'Well, no more jokes about that.' They stood for a moment. 'I make jokes when I'm uncomfortable - you know that, right?'

She was very still, staring at nothing, and then turned to him. 'Do I make you uncomfortable?' Her voice was so soft he could barely hear her.

'No, I just-' He frowned. 'I also have a thing about serious conversations. You know _that_, right?'

There was a way she looked at him then. More sweating, even more panic - this time of the not quite so mild sort. Chandler studied his hands clutched around his glass. 'It's different for you, anyhow.'

'What does that mean?'

He rolled his eyes. 'Oh, come on! Miss "I can get any guy I want without even trying"?'

'Not lately,' she murmured.

'Sorry, what was that?'

'Nothing.' Rachel stared into the middle-distance. 'Y'know, when I think about it my track record isn't all that great. I mean, since college my relationships have been Barry, Paolo and Ross. God, that's depressing.'

'Hey, I can top that,' Chandler said. 'I can offer you Janice, Kathy and, uh, Janice.'

Rachel laughed. 'You're right, that _is_ pathetic.'

'We're both pathetic losers!' He grinned at her. Who knew that beautiful, wonderful Rachel could be just as bad at this as him?

'You want to be pathetic losers together?' Her eyes shimmered.

Chandler put his arm around her shoulders, pulled her closer. 'I absolutely do.'

She actually seemed to nuzzle into him, her body turning into his. The thought occurred to him that Rachel Green was actually trying to kill him. They were supposed to be friends but she was bent on torturing him to death, just because she could.

What the hell, it would be a happy death.

Her hair brushed his cheek and she was pressed close to him.

_Flargle._

ooOoo

There was dancing. Not that there was supposed to be dancing but there was music and there had been enough alcohol that people chose to forget they were at a work party and have some actual fun.

'Dance with me,' Rachel said, not making it a request. Then: 'Please.'

'Eh...' His face screwed up. 'I don't dance, especially not around pretty girls.'

'I-' Her brain revisited this sentence a few times. 'But I've seen you dance.'

'I know, but you already _know_ that I have no sense of rhythm. Plus, do you really want to be seen with this guy?' He flailed his arms at her, the look on his face one of serious concentration. She laughed at him and she saw him relax.

'It's not that kind of dancing, this is the easy kind. Come on, please?'

'I...' His eyes darted from her to the makeshift dancefloor, back to her, away somewhere else. His shoulders slumped. 'Okay...'

They joined the couples and Chandler held her a little stiffly. Maybe, she thought through the slight fug of alcohol that was making everything happen at a slower speed than usual, maybe he hadn't recovered from the changing room incident. Fine. That was fine. Except he'd held her earlier, putting his arm around her.

Make up your mind, Chandler Bing, she thought tiredly. God, she felt so, so tired. She rested her head on his shoulder. _Not_ like in the changing room, not even like earlier (because apparently it was only okay when _he_ decided it was) but just in the way that people did when they danced. They shuffled together, they did not step on one another's toes. She kept her head on his shoulder. And he started to unbend. Bit by bit they were closer. Each step they brushed against each other. His hands found hollows along her back, rested there.

There was strength and tenderness in the way he held her and she thought that if the time ever came when he actually touched her, it might just break her.


	5. Sweet Surprise

The shirts had been folded and refolded so may times that Rachel started to think that one more go-around and they'd come apart in her hands. She made her fingers stop, stared down at the shirt she was clasping. Stupid shirt. Stupid azure shirt that was the same stupid colour as Chandler Stupid Bing's stupid eyes. She threw it away from her, looked at the crumpled heap on the floor, pushed down the urge to kick it, picked it up and refolded it.

God, she'd been living with Monica for so long she was starting to turn into her.

Azure was such a beautiful colour.

He had danced with her, he had slipped her back into her coat, he had taken them both back home to the safety of their respective apartments. Chandler Bing, it transpired, was revoltingly safe in the back of a taxi. Even with her thigh pressed hard against his he still hadn't-

When he had walked her to her door and they had stood in the hall he had, then, embraced her, and she had sighed a little in response, made that faint humming sound in the back of her throat, the one that had never let her down before.

Until then, of course.

He had offered her a 'Good-night' and one of those swift terrified smiles of his and fled into his apartment.

She used to be the girl that no man could resist. Miss 'I can get any guy I want without even trying'. Not lately, she thought again gloomily; no, not lately.

There was the cheerleader outfit hanging in a clothes bag in her closet. That had definitely never failed her before. Now, _there's_ a plan: a twenty-eight year-old cheerleader.

Could you _be_ more pathetic? a pleasant, sarcastic voice asked.

Wonderful, just wonderful. Even her own subconscious was a traitor.

'What do you think?'

Rachel started, turned and forced a smile. 'Great. That looks really great.'

He pulled nervously at the sleeves. 'Really? I'm not sure it's really me.'

'No, it looks good.'

'Oh. Oh, okay.'

He went back into the changing room and Rachel resumed her assault on the shirts. Why couldn't she have gone for someone like Joshua? He was handsome, he was charming, he was smart. Any other time she'd be throwing herself at him.

He wasn't Chandler.

He didn't try on the clothes she picked out and strike poses learnt from his burlesque-star father; he didn't make up stories about the shop mannequins; he didn't slide a silk scarf around her neck and flash her a smile of such sincerity and uncertainty it made her heart ache.

Joshua wasn't Chandler. And Chandler didn't want her.

'What do you think about gloves?'

She started again. 'Sorry?'

'Gloves. I, uh, I was thinking about gloves.' Joshua smiled at her.

There was a strange sort of tightness around his mouth when he smiled, she thought. Weakness in there somewhere.

'Right. _Right_! Gloves. Brown or black?'

'Brown?'

She curled her lips into a smile. 'Brown it is.'

Five pairs before he finally picked one out. A glove is a glove, she thought tetchily; they keep your hands warm, what more do you want? Seriously, what is this guy? A hand fetishist? Does he have his fingers insured?

Does everything I think have to sound as though it came direct courtesy of one Chandler M. Bing?

Joshua hung around, smiling at her, while she put the paperwork through on his order and the alterations and booked the appointment for his next session. Okay, he did a lot for her commission but the man needed more clothes than she did.

And that, somehow, just wasn't appealing.

ooOoo

He had spent the day not thinking about Rachel Green. He had not thought about her in that long black dress with the slits; he had not thought about her laughing, her eyes glittering, turning her face up to his; and he had definitely not thought about her sitting close to him, her perfume filling his head, about sliding his hand up along the expanse of her exposed thigh, about kissing her, hard, about making her forget she had ever been kissed before.

His secretary had brought him in cups of coffee, placed them on the desk beside his head that he had kept resting on folded arms and - he had sensed rather than seen - given him the sort of motherly disapproving looks that he had never really experienced first-hand but had always sort of wanted.

'Thanks,' he muttered after her last pilgrimage.

'It's a girl, isn't it?'

Chandler raised his head. She didn't look sympathetic exactly. Actually she looked more likely to rip Rachel's head right off her shoulders should she show her face. Not that she would know that Rachel had anything to do with any of this. Whatever _this_ was, exactly.

'Yes,' he said. She sniffed.

'Hussy.' And walked out.

It was endearing, really. Chandler drank some of the coffee, scalding hot and far too sweet, and winced but after a while drank it all down. Because it was nice to feel looked-after. And with the God-awful coffee to deal with, it actually made him stop thinking about Rachel.

ooOoo

Rachel was sitting in his Barcalounger. Curled up, blanket pulled up to her chin, eyes on the television.

Chandler took a moment, checked the apartment number, blinked against the gloom to make sure she was still there, closed the door. 'Hey.'

She turned her head, smiling at him sleepily over the top of the chair. 'Hey. Where have you guys been?'

He held up the carton of milk.

'Ah. I didn't know you knew how to buy any; I thought you just got it out of our fridge.'

'Ha-ha. That's Joe. Me? I buy stuff.' She looked at him; he shrugged. 'Yeah, most of the time...' He slid the carton into the fridge door, closed it, padded across the floor.

'Where's Joey?'

'You know that new sandwich place that opened?'

'Uh-huh.'

'It has a hot girl working there.'

'Ah.'

'Yeah. Hot girl, sandwiches - it's kinda like Joey heaven.'

Rachel laughed lightly. The sound crept somewhere behind his ribs and squeezed. 'What are you doing over here? We, uh, we didn't swap back did we?'

'No. It's just, well, Monica is getting really _Monica-y_ over there and it's been way too long a day for me to deal with it. Plus, that apartment still smells of bird,' she added darkly.

'Yeah, well, this apartment still smells of ... girl.'

Her eyebrows went up, one corner of her mouth curling.

He shrugged again. 'Yeah, okay.'

His bedroom still smelt of Rachel. As though the walls and floor and even the air had been instilled with Essence of Rachel.

'I didn't think you guys would mind.'

'Hey, you're welcome here anytime. But I wouldn't tell Monica. You know, she's-'

'-Always the hostess.' She rolled her eyes with affection. 'You want to watch the movie with me?'

'What is it?'

'_Weekend at Bernie's_.'

'Ah, the perennial classic! Sure.'

He hovered for a moment, indecisive, then climbed onto the arm of the same chair. 'This is my Barcalounger,' he said when she looked up at him questioningly.

'Joey doesn't let you sit in his?'

'Yes he does, but I know what he's done in that chair.'

Her face screwed up. 'Do I want to know?'

'Not really.'

'Ew.'

'Yup.'

'Do you want some blanket?'

Chandler took the proffered corner and they rearranged themselves, Rachel shifting across to give him enough room to be comfortable. He spread one arm along the back of the chair and she settled against him.

WENUS, he thought weakly, the WENUS- The WENUS can go to hell. Think about Bernie. Poor old Bernie getting bumped down stairs and skimmed over waves, and, damn even Bernie managed to get laid and he was dead and that is a totally disgusting thought-

Even that wasn't enough to distract from the reality of Rachel in his half-embrace. Most definitely not enough when she made that noise, that little purring sigh that made the more rational parts of his brain jam. The way she was doing right now.

She moved restlessly, her body finding the lines and hollows in his where she seemed to fit as though she had been made for it. Another little sigh. The smooth silk of her hair spilling over his hand.

Bernie. Poor, poor dead Bernie...

'Hey, Rach.'

'Yes?'

The light from the screen flickered across her face, playing with the fine bone beneath her skin. He cleared his throat.

'It's, uh, it's been great us hanging out lately.'

She turned more, leaning against him. 'Yes, it has.'

'I've really enjoyed it.'

'Me too!'

Her face was turned up to his. He did not have a wide basis for comparison but he thought she looked ... eager. Expectant. He had actually seen that sort of expression on the faces of other girls. Most of them had not been looking at him, but he had seen it. And Rachel was looking at him like that.

Kiss her.

'There's, uh, there's something I've been meaning to ask you.'

'What? What-what have you been meaning to ask me?' She had the edge of blanket pulled tight between her fingers.

Kiss her. Just kiss her, stupid. Or just kiss her stupid. Either. Both. _Something_.

'I- Dammit.'

He caught her chin in his hand, tilted her head back, and kissed her. He bruised her lips with his, claiming her. Then stopped.

'Whoa- You're kissing me back- Are you kissing me back?'

'Well, not right now.'

She had her hand at the back of his neck, pulled his head back down to hers.

Her lips were soft and yielding and they opened under his and her mouth was warm. Inviting.

She kissed him back.

Hunger was answered with hunger. Hands started to slide. Up under the worn hem of her shirt, grazing the skin over her ribs and she gasped, laughed slightly, pulled at his sweatshirt, and her nails raked lightly across his back.

They parted, slightly, and she stared at him, wide-eyed.

'God, you're- You're really good at that.' She sounded breathless.

'Well, I have kissed more than four women.'

'I hate all of them,' she murmured and kissed him again.

She tasted of cherries and black honey and he just couldn't get her close enough. He slithered down the arm of the chair, heard her gasp as his weight crushed her.

'Sorry! I'm sorry, I just-'

'Maybe we should-'

'Yeah-'

He stood and, suddenly daring, scooped her up, blanket and all, carried them through to his bedroom. Another gasp, this time tinged with a breath of delighted laughter. They landed on the bed in a tangle of arms and blanket and fought to free themselves.

Chandler pressed her down, framing her face with his hands, her hair twining itself around his fingers. Somewhere through the fog of need and want and the feel of her dragging her lips across the pulse in his throat came the solitary coherent thought that he should close his door.

He pulled himself away from her and every nerve ending screamed at the loss of contact. The door closed, he pressed both hands against it. Control, he needed some sort of control; he wouldn't fall on her like an animal; he thought about all the things he would do with her, the things he would do to her. He turned the lock.

'That door doesn't lock.' Her voice sounded ragged.

'Yeah, I fixed it so it will.'

She was breathy. 'You really are handy.'

Chandler turned and looked at her. She knelt on his bed in a square of light that crept through the window from the streetlamp. Her eyes glittered, strangely opaque and smoky. She kept them on him; her lower lip was pulled between her teeth for a moment, released, still glistening. And slowly, very slowly, she took hold of the hem of her shirt, pulled it up over her head, dropped it on the floor. Her hair fell around bare shoulders and his eyes took in the gold gleam of her skin.

Rachel, half-naked, was kneeling on his - _his -_bed and waiting for him.

'God, you are so beautiful.'

She smiled. He walked towards her.

ooOoo

At some point she wondered where the uncertain Chandler had gone. Where was the man with the crippling self-doubt? with the self-esteem so low it took a microscope to find it? Because this man, _this_ man, seemed so sure of himself when he had his hands on her; he knew what he was doing and _God, did he know what he was doing._

His hands were everywhere, finding patches of skin that flamed under his touch and still ached when those fingers - as strong and as dextrous as they looked - moved on. His hand circled her ankle, then slid down, fingers pressing into the ball of her foot, grazing against the arches; they investigated the tender skin between her toes.

'How,' she gasped, 'how did you..?'

He smiled, his head tilting to one side and the way his eyes glittered was inhuman. 'Remember when you guys helped me out with the seven zones? You got pretty excited about toes.'

She bit her lip. His fingers, then his mouth, his tongue-

'You, uh, you ... r-remember that ... huh?'

'Oh yeah.' He released her imprisoned foot, started to crawl up the bed towards her. 'As I recall, this is zone one-'

Rachel's breath shuddered through her.

'And _this_ is zone two-'

Her back arched helplessly.

'Zone three is all the way over here-'

'God, Chandler...'

She pushed herself up, pulled him towards her, crushed her lips against his. He wasn't the only one who knew zones, she thought; her hands moved over him and she felt power flood through her at the guttural moan she elicited from him. And there was so much pleasure just from touching him, of feeling skin and muscle sliding under her hands. Of tasting him, and breathing the warm haze of his aftershave.

He captured her hands, pinning them over her head. He was breathing so hard she could feel his chest shaking against hers. And-

And that was it. He looked down at her, not moving.

'Chandler.'

'What?'

'Chandler, _please!'_

He smiled.


	6. About Last Night

'I was actually planning on, y'know, _talking_ to you first, not just, well, doing _that_.'

'I would have been so disappointed if we hadn't done that.'

Chandler ran his fingers along her back, savouring the softness of her skin, and decided it was one of his favourite things in the world to do. Not the most favourite, but definitely high up the list.

'Yeah, but I'm a guy. I got distracted by the kissing-'

'You started it!'

'-and the touching-'

'Yeah, okay, that was me.' Rachel grinned happily, her chin resting on his chest.

'Then there was the whole nakedness thing. I pretty much stopped thinking with my brain by that point.' He squinted down at her. 'What was your excuse?'

'I just really, really wanted to be with you.'

'You did?' Still so hard to believe, even now, when she had moulded herself to him and lay in his arms and everything seemed to be glowing slightly.

Rachel rolled her eyes. 'God, Chandler, I've been trying to get you to do something since the Rangers game.'

'Wh-'

'Okay, not exactly then, 'cos you were still with Kathy, but since you two broke up... Yeah. Pretty much.'

The Rangers Game. The Rangers Game with Crying Guy and Rachel had been staring at him; then after Kathy and she had been so sweet, and she kept talking about Chantal to cheer him up; and in the changing-room at Bloomingdale's; and the party, and she had been jealous -yes, _jealous!_- of the girl flirting with him and then the dancing and-

'I didn't know that- How did I not know that?'

She stretched out, her back rippling under his hands and her smooth thigh slid against his. 'Well, I tried subtle but apparently you don't do subtle, but then you don't obvious either, so...'

'See,' he said seriously, 'this is why you should never listen to anything I say. I'm an idiot.'

'No, you're not.' The backs of her fingers brushed against his cheek. 'You are hard work, though.'

'You told me girls like hard.'

Her smile changed, something mischievous creeping in at its edges. 'Oh, we do,' she murmured and her hand slid down his chest. 'We really do.' Her hand slid lower.

He sucked in a breath. 'Oh, you are _so_ bad...'

ooOoo

In the early morning light, in the room that used to be hers, and in the warmth of an embrace that was still so new yet seemed so familiar, Rachel felt at home. They lay twined in each other, his heartbeat steady beneath her ear. She tilted her head slightly, looking up at him through half-closed eyes and found Chandler watching her watching him. She smiled.

'Hey.'

'Hey.' One finger-tip glanced across her cheekbone.

She sighed. 'We do have to talk this over.'

'I know. Ross.'

'Ross,' she said, instantly deflated. Chandler wasn't looking at her anymore; the opposite wall was now an apparent source of fascination. She had spent so long thinking about Ross, wanting Ross, being mad at him, loving him. Funny, that she had grown so accustomed to the enormity of all that in her life yet for the past weeks she had not missed the absence of Ross-related thoughts. She hadn't even noticed the lack.

Not so Chandler. Guilt was etched into his face.

'Maybe it won't be so bad.'

His eyes came back to her face. 'Come on, this is _Ross_. Formerly of Ross-'n-Rachel. This will kill him. Right after he's killed me.'

Rachel sat up, cool air biting against her skin. She shivered. 'This is one big conversation we're going to be having.'

'Yeah.' His eyes, restless, found her again and softened; he ran his hand down her arm and she leaned into the touch. There was something closed-off in his face. 'If you regret this-'

'I don't.' She laid her hand against his cheek. 'I don't, I just- We just have to figure out how we're going to do this. And...'

'And until we do we probably shouldn't tell anyone. About this.'

Goosebumps on her arms; she shivered again. 'Wow. We will be having a huge conversation.'

He smiled, and his hand slid up her arm, back down, up, down- 'Look, we'll meet for lunch, we'll talk and we'll sort this out. How does that sound?'

'That sounds great- What was that?'

Noises outside, like someone bumping into furniture.

'Chand-' His hand landed lightly over her mouth.

'Joey coming home,' he said, his lips barely moving.

She could hear the fridge opening, vague fumbling sounds. She could almost hear the slice of bread being laden with luncheon meat. And Chandler's fingers were still lightly against her lips; they sat up together, his arm around her waist and the heat from his body contrasted with the snap of frigid air.

Rachel took hold of the hand against her mouth, took the the pad of one of his fingers between her lips, then the next. His eyes, darkened, followed her.

'Rach-'

'Shhh...'

She concentrated on his fingers, the feel of them against her lips, on the sinewy hand caught in hers and the strength and delicacy of the bones. His other hand on her hip, warm and heavy. When he pulled her to him she sucked in a sharp breath.

'Quiet,' he breathed against her ear. 'Quiet.'

Joey still outside and her with him in here. She was shivering again, no - trembling. And she would lose herself in him again, nothing beyond the room where they were, the world even smaller than that, shrinking to their locked embrace.

But _quietly._

ooOoo

Hours later, at Central Perk, and Rachel still felt strangely boneless, as though she'd simply float away if anyone so much as breathed too hard. It was not an unpleasant feeling. Everything in her world had suddenly been reborn in the afterglow. Creeping back into her room before Monica woke up and she had realised that the indefinable scent that was always on the air behind Monica's Pine-Sol and the omni-present avian smell was Chandler and his aftershave and ... just _him_; her coffee tasted better; Manhattan looked shinier.

Curled in the corner of the sofa, Rachel allowed herself a few memories to replay themselves and felt herself smiling. She tried to stop. She'd been too happy, too pleasant that morning - Monica would soon get suspicious.

_Ross._

That was the thought to permeate her good mood. It was a relief that he wasn't there with the rest of them - she wasn't sure that she'd be able to meet his eyes, and part of her, a big part, resented that.

'Hello, children.'

That familiar greeting and she was boneless again, everything melting. Rachel watched him at the counter, trading a joke with- okay, just telling a joke to Gunther. She had never noticed the elegant economy of his movements before, an ease - almost graceful - that belied the awkwardness with which she had usually associated him. How had she never noticed? Crossing back to the sofa, he flashed her a smile and she glowed.

'Dude!' Joey, grinning. 'You hooked up!'

Chandler's smile stuttered. 'Hook- Wha- What?'

'You totally hooked up! You have your hooked up hair.'

One hand moved to his hair, smoothing it down. 'I di- You- How do you-'

Joey's grin had turned complacent, smug; he nodded, his eyes half-closed, then sat forward. 'Who is she? Is she that cute girl from your office?'

Rachel found that her fingers had tightened around the handle of her coffee-cup. She felt Chandler's eyes on her. She didn't look back at him.

'No! No. There was no cute girl. I mean-'

'Well, who is she?' Phoebe this time, her voice bright and eager.

'I, er...'

'Ooh, I know!' Joey's eyes were alight. 'It's that girl who delivers the pizzas, right? You know, you two are always flirting. And, man, she is _hot-_'

'No!' It sounded like a yelp. 'It, uh, it was Janice.'

Joey's smile evaporated. 'Dude.'

Rachel looked up at him; he met her gaze helplessly.

'I thought we had an agreement,' Joey continued, 'you were not sleeping with Janice anymore.'

'Yeah, well, y'know... That's me. I always sleep with Janice.'

'Does an agreement mean nothing anymore?'

The smile Chandler was wearing had more in common with a rictus; his breath was coming in short barking gasps. 'Look... Okay, look, Joe, how about, how about I promise, _promise_, that you won't see or even _hear_ Janice?' He gazed at his flatmate, pleading.

Joey folded his arms. 'Eh... But we're not done talking about this!'

'Oh... Goody. Hey, look at the time - really have to get to work.' He caught Rachel's eye for a moment and she saw the apology in their depths. She smiled a little, just for him, and saw the answering relief.

'I'll walk out with you,' Monica said, unfolding herself from the armchair. They left, chatting amiably. Joey followed their progress, still shaking his head.

'Can you believe that guy?'

'Oh, yeah,' Rachel said, 'it's, uh, it's a shocker.' She picked up a magazine, started to flick through it idly. She willed Joey to be distracted and, as though the deities were in her favour, he asked the two girls urgently,

'You want more coffee?'

'No, I'm okay, sweetie.' He looked deflated. Rachel looked at him, looked in the direction his eyes were taking and found the good-looking blonde at the counter. 'Actually, I think I'd like a glass of water.'

He grinned. 'You got it! Pheebs?'

She shook her head. He sprang out of his chair, adopting a nonchalant posture as he reached his goal.

'That's funny.'

Rachel shrugged. 'Joey hits on girls all the time.'

'No, I mean about Chandler.'

Rachel's grip on her magazine increased. The line she had been reading suddenly blurred.

'What he said about hooking up with Janice, it's just' -Phoebe's hands caught at the air- 'his aura's all the wrong colour for that.'

'H-his aura?'

'Yeah. Okay, when two people get together their auras kinda bleed into each other and he's definitely been with someone but his aura just doesn't look _Janiced_.' A pause. 'Actually-' She looked harder at Rachel.

Oh no.

There was a healthy frown building across Phoebe's face.

Oh, please, no.

'Oh...'

'No!'

'Oh!' Phoebe's eyes were wide. 'Oh my God! He's been Rachelled! You've been Binged!'

'Phoebe!' Rachel's eyes darted towards Joey, still mercifully engaged at the counter. 'Will you keep it down?'

'But-'

'Is that keeping it down?' Rachel hissed.

Phoebe leant forward, her gaze intent on Rachel. Her words came out from between lips that barely moved. 'You and Chandler?'

'Yes, yes, okay we-we slept together last night ... a lot. And this morning. Twice.'

The blonde let out a sharp breath. 'Oh my God!' Her eyes wandered over Rachel's face. 'You look ... really happy.'

She couldn't stop the answering smile, felt it bubbling up. 'I am.'

'Wow. Okay.' Phoebe picked up her coffee-cup, stared into it as though scrying through the faint rise of steam. 'So, are you guys, like, in love or something?'

'I-' Rachel sighed. She had the magazine rolled in a death grip in her hands; she let it go. 'I don't know. We haven't really had time to talk about that.'

'Oh, uh-huh.' A knowing smile; Rachel felt her cheeks warm.

'And we just want to, y'know, figure that stuff out before we say anything. So please please, Pheebs, don't say anything to anyone. _Anyone_.'

'Of course I won't.' She was silent for a moment. 'Ross is going to freak.'

Rachel winced. 'Yeah, not too happy about _that_. And that's another reason why we don't want to tell anyone yet.' Ross. Of all the things she didn't want to think about and was trying not to think about and suddenly he was everywhere. No, not everywhere. Chandler was everywhere; Ross was just hovering at the edges. All the edges. Chandler. Yes, Chandler was easy to think about. She felt all of her muscles change to that strange syrupy consistency that was starting to become familiar.

'So, uh,' she peered at Phoebe, 'so, what do you think about it?'

'Oh, I think it's great. For Chandler, especially.'

'What's that supposed to mean? Chandler is a great guy!'

'No, I know.' Phoebe smiled into her coffee.

'And what does _that_ mean?'

'Well,' Phoebe placed her cup on the table with exaggerated care, 'for someone who's not in love with the guy you're getting pretty defensive.'

'I'm not- Oh, God, I am...' Rachel buried her face in her hands. She peered at Phoebe from between her fingers. 'What do I do?'

'Well, I'd sit up 'cos Joey's coming back over.'

And that, Rachel thought sourly, was a big help.

ooOoo

_'Mr Bing, call for you on line one.'_

Before he pressed the button, Chandler reflected that he would never quite get over the kick of his own secretary and the shallow simplicity of a call on line one - or a line of any other number.

'Chandler Bing.'

_'Well, hello, Chandler Bing.'_

Rachel. Rachel with her voice low and husky and he was back to thinking that she was bent on killing him and _he still just didn't care._ He needed a cigarette. He needed Rachel naked, but in the absence of that he'd make do with a bucket-load of cigarettes.

'Well, hello, Miss Green.'

_'Whatcha doing?'_

'Oh, you know... Thinking about you. Naked.'

She laughed, the sound catching in the back of her throat. Chandler leaned back in his chair, never so grateful as now for having his own office.

_'Listen, sweetie, about lunch-'_

He sat up again. Of course. The morning after the night before and she was having second thoughts. Regrets. Well, they had never promised each other anything.

'You can't make it,' he said, flat. He heard her sigh.

_'No. Cindy's off sick and I got lumbered with her pain-in-the-ass client. I've changed my mind about my job - I _do_ hate it.'_

'Yeah, welcome to my world.'

A pause.

_'Are you okay?'_

'I'm fine.'

He'd spent most of his life being 'fine'. It was exhausting. On the other end of the line Rachel sighed again.

_'I am so, so sorry about lunch... Can we meet after work? ...Chandler?'_

Okay, maybe for once he actually _was_ fine.

'Yeah, I'd- Damn, I can't. I have a- Uh, I have something.'

_'What?'_

He winced, took a moment. 'I have a racquetball game.'

_'Really?'_

'Yes, really.'

_'Huh. Okay, could we meet after that?'_

Chandler sat, the phone pressed hard against his ear. 'Uh, yeah, yeah, let's meet then.'

He could hear her smile. _'Great.'_

ooOoo

Rachel slid along one of the raked benches overlooking the courts, staring intently at the action on court number four and the two men flinging themselves around it.

Chandler was good, she thought with some surprise. Very good. No wonder he'd kept it quiet: Monica would have him signed up for every tournament in the Tri-State area so fast all they'd see would be a Chandler-shaped blur.

She watched as he dived after the ball and it ricocheted around the court. Both men stopped moving, both breathing hard. They straightened, exchanged slaps on the back, shook hands. It looked sober, mature. Chandler hung back while his opponent left and-

Rachel smiled. Yup, there it was. The whirling arms, the little skips. The patented Chandler Bing Dance of Triumph.

That's my guy, she thought.

ooOoo

'You told Phoebe? Why-why-why-why would you do that? Why?'

'I didn't tell her, she guessed! Well, she didn't guess exactly, she saw it in your aura.'

'My _what_?'

'Your aura. It was the wrong colour or something. Oh, what the hell do I know? This is _Phoebe_.'

'That's it. She is not allowed anywhere near my aura anymore!'

Chandler swallowed down his drink, took a deep breath. 'So, uh, what did she say? About us, I mean.'

Rachel tossed the hair away from her shoulders. 'She said she thinks it's great.'

'Really?'

'Yeah, those were her exact words. Why, what did you think she'd say?'

'I...' He shrugged.

That Rachel must have been drunk, or insane, or had mistaken him for someone else.

Throughout the day, he had kept thinking that maybe Rachel had been drunk, or insane, or...

She sat opposite him in the darkened booth in a bar, elbows propped on the table, and ran the cherry from her drink along her lips before biting into it. He envied that cherry. Her eyes, unfocused, came back to him and her lips curved upward.

'You know how much work I got done today?' she asked.

'A lot?'

She shook her head. 'None. Well, not much.'

He smiled. 'Yeah, I hate to think about the state of the spreadsheets I sent upstairs.'

'Think anyone will notice?'

'If they're anything like me, probably not.'

She was golden, he thought. Everything about her: the honey-blonde hair, the gleam of her skin, the quality of her voice. The golden girl and she seemed to want him.

It was a thought so fragile that it threatened to break if put under too much scrutiny.

And that would be the result of telling everyone else, even leaving Ross out of it.

Ross. Every thought of that name was immediately followed by the echo of _Traitor_ floating through his mind.

Phoebe, Joey, Monica- They'd all have an opinion, all have advice, all be watching them. And if it all went wrong there would be more advice, more opinions, sides picked. It would be nice if they could at least work it out for themselves first.

'I know,' Rachel sighed. 'I know. It's just- Y'know, I don't really mind the sneaking around.'

'Me either.' Apart from the teeny tiny massive part of him that wanted to stand on a rooftop and yell the fact that Rachel Green was with_ him_ to the world. Well, to most of Midtown, at least.

'But I hate not telling Monica.'

He nodded. 'Yeah, I hate not telling Joey. Mainly because, you know, you're really hot.' Chandler looked at her, sheepish. 'Is that okay?'

Rachel laughed. 'That's okay. And you're pretty hot, too.'

His mouth opened and he stared at her, wordless. She leant forward, placed her hand over his.

'Okay, that's just the plain old truth and I tell the truth. So, you'll just have to get used to it.'

He linked his fingers through hers. 'I think I can used to all of this pretty fast.'


	7. Simple Things

The plinking of strings and the synthesised sound of waves lapping had ceased to be an annoyance and simply receded into the background. Even with his face shoved into the handy massage-table face-hole, he felt wonderfully relaxed. Chandler sighed in contentment and thought that Phoebe really did have magic in her fingers.

'So, things are going well with Rachel?'

His eyes snapped open. So much for relaxed.

'Not the time, Pheebs.'

'Uh-huh. You're pretty tense.'

'You think?'

Silence. He allowed himself, tentatively, to begin to drift back to that happy place of loosened limbs and blank-minded non-thoughts. Then:

'Do you want something for your neck? I didn't think Rachel was a biter.'

'Phoebe!'

Chandler pushed himself up on the table, grabbing at the towel that started a slow traitorous slide to the floor, dragged it up as he twisted around. 'That is _so-_ And will you stop using your creepy masseuse voice? It's like getting a rub-down off Bela Lugosi.'

Phoebe's eyes rolled. 'Okay, fine.'

Chandler arranged himself on the table, glanced up and saw the direction of Phoebe's eyes. 'Are you looking? Stop looking! You are not supposed to be looking.'

'Rachel is a very lucky girl.'

'Phoebe!'

They stared one another down.

'Will you please pass me another towel?'

'Ooh, someone has a big opinion of himself.'

He glared at her. Phoebe passed him the towel.

'Look, okay, I'm growing small humans inside of me - I need to take amusement where I can find it.' She rested, half-sitting, beside him on the massage-table, her hands resting over the swell of her belly. Then looked him up and down again. 'Plus, y'know, hormones.'

'I'd make a joke right now but I'm feeling a little exposed.'

'Eh.' She shrugged. 'I've seen worse.'

'Well, thank-'

'I've also seen better.'

'I hope your labour is prolonged and excruciating.'

Phoebe smiled slightly. They sat for a while.

'So, things are going well?'

Chandler rearranged, with great care, his towels, keeping as much of himself covered as possible. 'With Rachel? Yeah, it's, uh' -he couldn't stop himself from smiling- 'it's pretty good.'

'Are you ever going to tell anyone else?'

'Yeah, sure, one day. I was thinking maybe after Ross dies? Or if I die first it can be read out in my will.'

'Yeah, okay, but what if Rachel is still alive?'

'I'm thinking that Ross is less likely to kill her. Plus, he'll be pretty old by then, he won't be able to get around as fast.' He pulled at a wilfully errant towel. What did she wash them in - some kind of ultra-slippery detergent? 'Okay, okay, we'll have a suicide pact and we'll leave a joint will.'

'Oh, I have one of those!'

He chose not to enquire which.

'I guess this means our back-up plan pact is off?'

Chandler tilted his head at her, offering her one of his nicest smiles. 'Yeah, sorry about that.'

Her eyes drifted down again. 'Yeah, me too...'

Chandler clutched his towels.

ooOoo

There was a thrill in sneaking around that Rachel hadn't expected. The breathless limbo moments when the distance between apartments - between her bedroom and his - had never seemed so vast and there was the tip-toeing attempt to wake neither Monica nor Joey.

It was the sitting in Central Perk and making sure that she was beside him, leaning against his arm and the moments when he would, apparently inadvertently, brush his hand against her thigh. Or when he'd drape his arm along the back of the sofa and she could pretend that she was sitting with his arm around her.

That was where the frustration was, too. When she wanted to hold his hand, or have his hand on her knee, feel his fingers against her cheek when he'd slide the hair back from her face, or just kiss him - hello, goodbye - in front of the others.

Frustration assuaged later, in the safety of one another's rooms, when fingers made clumsy by feverishness would fumble with buttons and zips and belts and when skin finally came against skin the relief was almost unbearable.

But there were always the lunches.

ooOoo

'Hm... I think I'll go for the unagi.'

Chandler dropped his menu and looked at her. 'Word of advice: never _ever_ mention "unagi" to Ross.'

'Doesn't he like sushi? I never knew that.'

'It's not the sushi, it's something to do with his karate. Or I should say kara-_te_.'

Rachel's lips twitched and Chandler felt a spear of guilt. Under the circumstances it was wrong to make fun of Ross, especially behind his back. But sometimes it was just so easy.

'I'll keep that in mind; I've heard enough about his karate, believe me.'

'Yeah, his wax on, wax off days.'

Rachel laughed. He liked making her laugh. Not in the way he did so many people, as a form of self-protection, but just because he loved the way she laughed. He loved the way her eyes crinkled and her lips curled up and she would toss the hair away from her face. He loved the way she was so open about it. And he loved that he could be the cause of all of that.

Across the table, he took hold of her hand. They sat like that, studying their menus, unnoticed by the rest of the lunch-time customers in the crowded Midtown restaurant. One stolen hour in the middle of the day.

He ran his thumb across the back of her hand and saw one corner of her mouth turn up; her eyes stayed on her menu.

When the waiter came over for their order he said, 'I'll have the rice wrapped in seaweed.'

Rachel smiled. 'He'll have the unagi.'

ooOoo

One of these mornings, Rachel thought grimly, one of these mornings she'd shimmy across the gap between apartments and beat Mr 'Morning Is Here' to death with one of her shoes. One with a really, really pointy heel. She dragged her robe on, dragged her hair back, pushed her door open and wandered blearily into the living room.

Monica was holding something white at arm's length with a pair of tongs.

'Morning to you, too.'

'Where did these come from?'

'What is it? Is there coffee? I thought you made coffee.'

'It's underwear! _Men's_ underwear.'

Rachel blinked, the just-out-of-bed fog clearing rapidly. 'Oh... Oh, uh, well, this was, y'know, the guys' apartment before it was ours. They-they probably belong to one of them.' She tried to keep her voice steady. Was her voice steady?

Monica brandished the tongs; the offending garment fluttered like a truce-flag. 'Well, they weren't here yesterday evening! And they didn't walk over by themselves!'

'No. No. They, uh-'

Think of something. Think of a name.

'They're-'

_Any_ name.

'They're Joshua's!'

Monica's arm fell to half-mast; she tilted her head, frowning. 'Who's Joshua?'

'Oh, the guy I'm seeing. You know - The Guy.'

The blue eyes gleamed. 'His name's Josh?'

'Joshua.' She cringed inwardly.

'He doesn't like Josh?'

'No, _I_ don't.' Honestly, she asked herself, what difference did it make?

'Oh. Okay. Wow, I didn't even know you had anyone over here last night.' Monica thought it over. 'He must have left really early.'

Only at about five that morning, Rachel thought wearily, only about two hours after he'd actually got there. So he could avoid Monica and her ludicrously early rising.

'Yes, uh, yes he-he had to get to work. Early.'

Monica nodded slowly. 'You really are keeping this quiet.'

'Yeah, well...' Rachel played with the frayed end of her belt. 'He's shy.'

Monica nodded again; her smile seemed a little too tight. 'You know, if I was paranoid I'd think that you're embarrassed for him to meet me.'

'Oh, Mon, no, it's just that, well, it's complicated.'

'Why, is he married?'

Rachel hesitated.

'Oh my God, he's married!' Monica stared at her, mouth still open, her eyes wide. 'Rachel! How-how could you do that? After Barry- after Ross? You know what that felt like.'

'It's not like that! They're ... separated. And ... Joshua just doesn't need the complication of people knowing about his relationship with me while they are finalising the divorce.'

Not bad for the spur of the moment. Not the most elegant solution, but still - not bad. If only Monica would stop looking at her like that.

'They were already separated.'

Monica's lips pressed together; she let out a breath. 'Sweetie, are you sure it's a good idea getting involved with someone who's still married? I mean, what if they decide to work things out? It- This might not end well.'

Rachel crossed to her friend, put her arms around her and held her tight. 'You are so sweet. But it'll be okay. I promise you.'

Monica sighed. 'I hope so. And will you please take these?'

'Oh, sure.' Rachel took the tongs gingerly.

ooOoo

'Wait, so now I have to pretend to be some guy called Josh? Some married guy called Josh?'

'Joshua.'

'What the hell does that matter?'

'I don't know,' Rachel moaned, 'I don't know why I keep doing that. Anyway, I don't see why you're complaining, I have to pretend to be Janice.'

'Yeah, okay...'

Her head was in the crook of his arm; Chandler twisted his hand around, catching at the ends of her hair.

'So, this Josh guy... Is he as cute as me?'

Her lips pushed out, forehead wrinkling. A lot of thought going into it. 'Well, he is quite handsome...'

'Yeah, I know I started it, but this isn't funny anymore.'

She grinned up at him, then raised her head slightly and caught his lips with hers. 'No-one is as cute you.'

'Is the right answer!'

'Great. In that case, would you get me a soda?'

Chandler rolled his eyes ostentatiously, pushing her away from him. 'A man's work is never done.' He pulled his robe on, padded across the room. At the door a voice, horribly familiar and wholly out of place, called from behind:

'I'll be waiting for you, Chandler Bing!'

He turned quickly, pressed his back against the door, stared at Rachel in horror. She was grinning at him again, evidently delighted with the joke. 'No! No, no, no, no! Do not ever _ever_ do that again!'

She opened her mouth.

'_Ever!_'

Rachel held up her hands. 'Okay!'

As he opened the door, Janice's machine-gun laughter caught him in the back. Chandler winced, braced himself, stepped into the living-room and-

'Gah!'

-found Joey's finger in his face, a mutinous glare behind it.

'You promised!'

Chandler knocked his hand away. 'I hope that's not loaded, Joe.'

'You promised me I wouldn't even have to hear her! And I heard her. I heard her real good. You promise this, you promise that- You know what you are? You're a promise-breaker!'

Chandler sighed. 'I know, I know, and I am so sorry. We'll keep it down, I pro-'

Joey's eyebrows went up. Chandler smiled at him weakly. 'We'll keep it down.'

'Yeah, well... You better!' Finger in his face time again. Joey glared at the closed bedroom door, sending murderous thoughts to the woman behind it.

Chandler sent a few of his own and wondered, if the exact circumstances were known, whether anyone would really blame him for killing her.

He retrieved the soda, slid back into his room. Rachel was kneeling on the bed, her hands pressed over her mouth.

'Pity you didn't try that in the first place,' he said.

Her shoulders shook helplessly.

'That wasn't funny, Rach!'

She heaved in a breath; there were actually tears starting to leak down her face. Swamped in one of his shirts, her hair tumbling messily around her shoulders, her cheeks flushed with suppressed laughter she looked ... beautiful.

He really should kill her. Or at least punish her. A little.

But he just loved the way she laughed.


	8. The Apartment

In the end, Rachel thought, Emily Waltham really hadn't been all that bad. A bit snobby, a bit pretentious - well, she was British after all - but once she'd been provided with some dry clothes and shoes she'd actually been almost fun. Not an evening that Rachel would wish to repeat but not one that would go down as being one of the worst in her own personal history.

She'd already had enough of those.

At the top of the final flight of stairs Rachel stopped, taking her weight onto one foot then the other. Even after years of inappropriate-shoe-induced numbness, every now and then her feet would flare up into agony. They throbbed dully at her. She hobbled down the hall, pushed open the door and sighed in relief when she entered, not having to pretend anymore. A few steps in and she wondered what was strange. A few more steps and she noted the Barcaloungers and she realised that, once more, she had come home to the wrong home.

She hated them both. She hated their mean smugness in enjoying taking their apartment - their beautiful purple apartment - from them. She hated Monica for having got her into this, and out of her home, to begin with.

_This_ was still her home. _That_ was still her bedroom. The one where Chandler now slept.

Perhaps, she thought, as she crept across the floor, her lovely but crippling shoes in her hand, coming in here had not been such an inadvertent mistake. Perhaps it was just that this was where she belonged.

She pushed down on the handle, familiar with its feel, with the strange little judder it made near the end of its motion, knowing just how much pressure to apply to keep the whole thing soundless. The door was closed behind her just as silently and she stood for a moment, blinking against the gloom. Like her, Chandler slept with the curtains drawn tight and the window open just a crack, just enough to let a current of fresh night air in. She breathed it in along with the scent that had become almost a part of her. The scent that lingered in her room, that clung to her skin and her hair hours after she had left him, that imbued the shirt that she had stuffed under her pillow and pressed against her cheek when he wasn't there just so that she could pretend that he was.

He was the shapeless lump under the sheets, just one arm visible.

Rachel put her shoes on the floor, her bag on the dresser, slipped off her coat, her dress, shook out her hair and felt its residual dampness against her neck. She slid in next to him, absorbing the warmth of his body. She pressed herself against the curve of his back, one arm around him getting herself closer, she buried her face in the curve of his shoulder and breathed him in.

Beyond the curtained window the city was a dull roar, muted to a perpetual rhythm of traffic and bass notes. Layered over it the hum of air-conditioners and generators, and over that, right beside her, the low in-and-out of his breathing. She could hear the change, how it shallowed as he began to stir and then his voice, roughened with sleep croaking her name.

'Rachel?'

She stroked his hair. 'Hey.'

'How was your hot girl-date?'

'It was not a date.'

'Why do you say stuff like that?'

She smiled into the curve of his neck, pressed her lips against his skin. 'Sorry. We held hands during the show, played footsie during dinner, then made out afterwards.'

'Awesome.'

She laughed lightly, imagined the way he would be smiling to himself. Chandler rolled onto his back, sliding his arm around her and she settled against him again.

'Are you staying or going?'

'Staying.'

'You want me to set the alarm?'

'You'd better.'

''Kay.'

No movement. She poked him in the ribs; he started. 'Chandler.'

'What?'

'The alarm.'

'Oh, yeah. Here I go. Here's me setting the alarm.'

Another poke.

'Hey, here's a non-fun game.'

'Then set the alarm!'

He rolled away from her again, jabbed at the clock on the bedside table, came back to her. When his arm went around her again he held her tighter. 'You are almost naked.'

'You noticed.'

'I'm great that way.' A pause. 'That was your cue to say, "You're great in lots of ways, Chandler".'

She yawned widely. 'You know I was totally thinking that.'

'You're lucky I think you're hot, you know that?'

Rachel curled herself against him, felt the way the contours of his body shifted to accommodate hers; she slipped one hand under the hem of his T-shirt, felt sleep-warmed skin and soft hair and stopped with her fingers resting over his heart. He pressed his lips against the top of her head.

'Chandler?'

He started again. 'What?'

'Do you ever get lost between apartments?'

He thought it over. 'Huh?'

'I mean, do you ever go home to the wrong apartment by mistake?'

'Seriously, _so_ lucky I think you're hot...'

Rachel blew out a breath. 'I keep doing it. I keep coming home to _here_ instead of your old apartment.'

'It's now your apartment.'

She drew light circles on his chest. 'C'mon, swap back.'

'No.'

'Please?'

'No.'

She lowered her voice. 'I'll do that thing you wanted to try.'

'N-' He paused. 'No. Nice try but you'll have to do better.'

'Better than _that_?'

'Go to sleep.'

'But-'

'Rach, go to sleep.'

ooOoo

In the hallway they smiled at one another - complicit - and resisted the urge to hold hands. Later, perhaps, out on the street she would take his arm and anyone who knew them would think nothing of it. Just two friends walking along being friendly.

'Hey, guys.'

Chandler felt his smile freeze. For weeks he'd managed to avoid spending much time with Ross, something about which the other man - your oldest friend, he reminded himself once again - seemed oblivious.

'Hey, hi!'

Rachel was smiling too brightly, he thought. She pushed her hair behind one ear, a jerking nervy gesture.

And Ross was wearing one of his morose semi-smiles. It dragged at his features. 'You guys going out?'

'Yeah, we're,' he glanced at Rachel; she was still wearing her pasted-on smile and staring at a patch of wall, 'we're just going to the movies.'

Ross brightened. 'That sounds like fun. Hey, there's a season of pre-Soviet Russian films showing at the Cornerhouse.'

'Yeah, we were just heading to the multiplex,' Rachel said, voice sharp, 'y'know, any old popcorn-movie will do us.'

The semi-smile returned. 'Oh. Oh, yeah, right... No, no, of course, I just thought... Y'know, I thought you guys might be interested...' He turned slowly towards number nineteen and an evening with his sister.

It's like kicking a puppy, Chandler thought. I'm the guy who kicks puppies. Big palaeontologist puppies. God, it's like when we were in college and I told him I didn't want to be in his band and it ended up being the choice between looking at _that_ face for the next four years or being in the band. That band sucked. If I couldn't not be in the band, how am I going to tell him about Rachel? I should leave the city. Or the state. Or the country. Yemen. I'll go to Yemen.

'Hey, Ross-' Chandler forced his mouth up into a smile. 'Pre-Soviet sounds great.'

'Great!'

He really was like a puppy: doom-and-gloom one moment, ecstatic the next; if he'd had a tail he'd have been wagging it.

Ross started towards the stairs, cheerfully talking to a reluctant audience who didn't hear a word. Chandler looked at Rachel and her face was strained, incredulous. He held up his hands, shook his head in mute apology. She stared at him, and all of the sparkle that had danced in her eyes was gone. She nodded, started after Ross and he followed her miserably.

ooOoo

She was painfully, horribly, aware of Ross sitting beside her. The theatre was small, the seats cramped and if she relaxed for a second her knee would press against his. She tried to make herself as small as possible, shrinking away from him, and ending up pressing against Chandler on the other side. He sat, rigid, staring at the screen, flinching slightly at each inadvertent touch.

It was the quietest theatre she had ever been in; there were only five other people there. She felt like throwing her head back and screaming.

Ross was the only one enjoying himself: hunkered down in his seat, laughing at the supposed jokes that probably hadn't been funny even to the pre-Soviet audiences back in the day.

It was not the movie night they had had planned. It had not been much of a plan, admittedly, but it had been theirs: go to any no-brainer movie showing, sit in the back-row, make fun of the screen for a while, then spend the rest of the time making-out. And if they _had_ ended up in a screening of Russia's answer to Chaplin, Chandler would have made her laugh by making up an alternative narrative and whispering it down her ear.

Ross laughed out loud at the action on screen, a high-pitched giggle that she found as welcome as nails scraped against a blackboard. He turned to Rachel, including her in the joke; she smiled weakly and her knee bumped against Chandler's; he flinched.

ooOoo

'You guys want to get some coffee?'

'Uh...' Chandler widened his eyes. 'I have to be at work early tomorrow, so...'

'Sure. Rach?'

'Yeah, me to, we, uh, we have to do inventory.'

The good-nights seemed interminable before Ross headed down the street. When he rounded the corner, Rachel sagged against the back of a bench, her head in her hands.

'Oh my God, that was awful.'

Chandler rested beside her. 'I know.'

Her head came up; she punched him in the arm. 'Why the hell did you invite him? It's Ross. _Ross_!'

'I know. I know! But' -his hand grasped at the air helplessly- 'but he had this look on his face like-like-'

'Like you've just kicked a puppy.'

'Yes! My God, yes, that's it exactly!'

They looked at each other. Rachel sighed softly and put her head on his shoulder. She fit so perfectly into the curve. Chandler stared at the pavement, stared at the small littering of cigarette butts at his feet. They looked tempting. He closed his eyes. Karma, he thought, really really crappy Karma; being with Rachel, with Ross' Rachel, meant that he deserved to feel this way. 'I am a terrible person.'

'No, you're not,' she said, soft. 'You are a good guy and you have been such a great friend to Ross.'

'Yeah. If I were a really good guy and a really great friend I'd say that we should stop seeing each other.'

She was still. So very still and he couldn't even hear her breathing.

'But I really want to go on seeing you.'

'Oh, thank God!' Rachel put her arms around his neck. Her face was damp. 'I don't want to stop seeing you! I really- I-' She pulled back. Her eyes were sparkling again, eyelashes studded with tears. 'I-I've been really ... happy ... lately.'

'Yeah.' Chandler cupped her face in his hand, wiped away the trace of tears and mascara from her cheek with his thumb. 'Yeah, me too.'

They did not kiss, out there on the street. Chandler held her to him, and buried his face in her hair.

ooOoo

'Is it crazy that I feel bad about doing this?' Monica asked.

'Yes,' Rachel replied, wrestling grimly with a Barcalounger. Chandler's Barcalounger; she'd left Joey's for Monica, Joey's with whatever was on it from whatever he'd done in it and derived a sense of satisfaction from the fact that Monica had no idea. As payback went it wasn't much of one but it was better than nothing.

'I can't believe they took the tickets and still kept the apartment.'

'Hey, you guys' -Phoebe, the look-out, stuck her head around the door- 'you better hurry up, the game will be over soon.'

Rachel straightened up. 'Oh, okay, sure. I'll just activate my jet-pack.'

Phoebe made a face at her, vanished again.

Monica threw herself at the Barcalounger, shunted it half-way across the room. She really was, Rachel thought, freakishly strong. Rachel gritted her teeth, grabbed the back of the chair and jerked it across the floor. When she reached Monica she stopped, pushed the hair out of her eyes.

'They'll be pretty mad when they get home.'

'Yeah.' Rachel rested against the back of the chair.

'They could just wait us out and switch it all back again.'

'Yeah, I've been thinking about that and I think I have an idea.'

ooOoo

Chandler closed the door, pressed his back against it. 'You are a devil-woman!'

Rachel looked at him innocently, wide-eyed. 'Who, me?'

'Yes, you! It was your idea - it had the black marks of Rachel Green all over it.'

She dropped the last of her belongings into a box, her lips twitching. 'I thought that you thought that the girl-on-girl action was worth it.'

'At the time...' He shrugged. 'The image has already started to fade.'

'Aww...' Her lips pushed out in mock sympathy.

'I want my apartment back.'

'Well, you got it.' Rachel gestured around the room. 'Enjoy.'

'This isn't over.'

'Yeah it is.'

They glared at each other across the bed. His shoulders slumped. 'Yeah, it is.' He wandered across, plucked at the scrunched-up ball of blue and frowned. 'Isn't this my shirt?'

Rachel felt the heat seep into her cheeks. 'Uh, yes.'

He was still fiddling with it. 'Why is it with your stuff?'

'I...' Her head lowered for a moment then she looked back up at him, defiant. 'I keep it under my pillow, okay? Happy now?'

He looked at her startled, again, and she reminded herself, again, that after all, after everything, it was Chandler.

'You keep it under your pillow.'

'Yes.'

'My shirt.'

'Yes.'

'Oh...' He shook it out, folded it again roughly and placed it in her box. 'Guess you should hang onto it, then.' His hands were in his pockets, head slightly bent. He was trying not to smile but the dimples either side of his mouth were deepening. Rachel watched him and felt the slow melting of her insides start all over again. It was lucky, really, that he had no idea how adorable he could be because if he did he would be insufferable. Or just like every other guy. And most of them were not nearly as adorable.

'So, uh... Before today, have you and Monica ever-'

'Chandler!'

'What?' His hands came out of his pockets, spread in the air. 'Really? Even now, I can't ask that question?'

'You-' Rachel shook her head. 'Men!'

'At least tell me what it was like... C'mon, you got your apartment back.'

'You watched it! You don't need me to tell you.'

He shrugged. 'I told you, the image is fading. Plus, Joey kinda hogged the whole viewing experience.'

'Yeah, he was pretty excited...'

'Just tell me how Monica kissed you.'

Rachel sighed. 'She-' She tilted her head slightly, walked across to him, placed her hands flat on his chest. 'She kissed me like this.' She pressed her lips chastely against his, held them there for a few seconds, stepped back.

'Huh. See, if it had been me, I would have kissed you like this.'

Her mouth was assaulted, ravaged, his hand holding her head, one arm wrapped around her waist. She was lifted off her feet, felt the hard door against her back and the solidity of his body pressed against her front. She couldn't breath. She didn't want to.

When he released her, still close enough that she could feel his breath against her lips, she was shaking.

'That-that is not fair.'

He smiled. 'Payback.'

They watched each other.

'I have to get back,' Rachel said softly.

'I know.'

He moved back, letting her past him. Rachel collected her box and felt a sudden pang at leaving behind this room. But maybe, she thought, maybe the feel, the scent of him would be on the air back in her new-again-old room. Chandler had his hand on the doorknob, before turning it caught her chin in his hand and kissed her again.

'You really are good at that.'

The dimples reappeared. 'Like I said, I have kissed more than four women.'

'Yeah...' He opened the door for her. 'And I've kissed more than one.'

'Ye- Wait, what? Rachel? Rach!'

And that, my friends, is what they call payback. She laughed to herself. But perhaps one day, if he was really good to her, she'd tell him about Melissa.


	9. There's A Small Hotel

Most days Rachel Green loved her job. Most days. This was not most days. She blinked hard against the blur that kept distorting her vision, bit down on her lip, glanced at her watch. 11:30. It had already felt like one of the longest days of her life and it was still only 11:30. No, 11:31. In an hour and twenty-nine minutes it would be lunch and she clung to that thought like a lifeline. Lunch with Chandler. Then everything would be okay. She could make it through the next hour and twenty-ni- twenty-eight minutes.

'Miss Green.'

Everything in her withered slightly. There was a way Mr Waltham said her name that made her feel as though she were still at school being summoned to the principal's office. It aroused the same urge to stick her tongue out at him behind his back. Mr James T. Waltham. She could hear Chandler's voice in her head.

_'James T. Waltham. James _T_? Does the T stand for Tiberius? Please tell me the T stands for Tiberius.'_

He looked at her down that long patrician nose of his and intoned, 'You have a personal call.'

'Right. Thank-thank-you.' She squeezed past him, felt his eyes on her back as she headed for the office phone.

'Hello?'

_'Hey, babe_.'

Rachel closed her eyes and smiled to herself. 'Trying out a new greeting there?'

_'Uh-huh. You like it?'_

'Y'know, I actually do.'

Chandler laughed softly, then cleared his throat. _'Listen, Rach.'_

She opened her eyes.

_'I, uh, I have to cancel lunch.'_

'Oh.' Her stomach contracted, a hard ball like lead low in her body. She blinked, hard; it didn't help; she pinched the bridge of her nose. His voice washed over her.

_'I am so, so sorry. Doug's got me doing ... something. I should probably find out what that is_.' A pause where she didn't laugh. _'You're mad.'_

'No.' She shook her head. 'No, I'm not mad. You can't help it, I know that.' Her voice broke at the end, rising to a higher pitch than usual. On the other end of the line she heard him suck in a breath.

_'God, I'm ... I'm sorry.'_

'Yeah. I was- I was just really looking forward to it.'

_'Are you okay?'_

'Yes.'

'_Rachel?'_

She sighed, ran her hand through her hair, straightened her shoulders. 'Okay, I'm just going to say this and then we can forget that I ever said it. I know I said I don't mind the sneaking around, and I don't, but I don't think I can face it tonight. I don't want to creep into your room at three in the morning, I don't want to have to dodge Monica when I creep back home, I don't-I don't want to have to be _quiet_. I just-I just can't do it. I'm sorry, I-' She took a breath, held it, let it go. 'Forget I said all that.'

Chandler was silent for a moment, she could hear him breathing - that rhythm that was so familiar - then: _'Rachel, I- Can I call you back? I need to take another call. I'll call you right back, I swear.'_

'Yeah. Yes, sure, okay.'

Rachel hovered by the telephone for a few minutes. It remained stubbornly silent. Five minutes. Ten minutes. After a hellish day she would, ordinarily, be longing for the moment of release when she could vanquish her malaise through the therapeutic properties of shopping. Now, instead, she wanted the therapeutic properties of Chandler's blue eyes and comforting arms. And just when had _that_ happened? Fifteen minutes. He had a strange definition of 'call you right back'. Twenty minutes.

'Miss Green - you have _another_ personal call.'

She forced her mouth into a stiff apologetic smile.

_'Rachel, listen: instead of going straight home after work, why don't we meet up for drinks, grab some dinner?'_

The leaden ball decreased its pressure somewhat. 'That sounds good. Where do you want to meet?'

_'How about the Four Seasons?'_

'What?'

_'The Four Seasons, it's this big hotel off Park Avenue-'_

'I _know_ that, but- Really? The Four Seasons?'

_'Yeah, I- I think you deserve it.'_

The lead melted into something warm, golden, that spread through her. 'That is so sweet. I'm not sure my work clothes are really Four Seasons-worthy, though.'

_'Oh come on, you know you look gorgeous no matter what you wear. Anyway, don't you work in a dress-shop?'_

'It is a high-end department store.'

He laughed softly.

When Rachel floated back past Mr Waltham's supercilious gaze, she smiled back serenely. She had Chandler _and_ shopping.

ooOoo

In the bar, perched on one of the cherry-red leather stools, Chandler studied the lights glinting softly through the acacia trees and stopped himself from checking the time again. He transferred his attention to the wine display.

Fifteen feet is an awful lot of wine. He looked up at it, felt the twinge in his neck from craning it at the awkward angle, looked down, checked his watch.

He would not, he had told himself when he'd sat down, be that guy who peered anxiously at every girl who passed through the doors. That would be pathetic and boy did he know from pathetic.

He found the more surreptitious method of keeping an eye on the door by looking at it in the mirror.

So instead I'm the guy who apparently can't keep his eyes off himself. Wonderful.

There were more twinges - in his chest this time - at each sighting of honey-blonde hair; twinges again when the accompanying face was the wrong face. When a girl with the right shade hair piled on her head and a black dress walked in he looked at her with the reflex of immediate approval. She was sophisticated, beautiful, elegant, she was looking at him, she was Rachel. My God, he thought, she's Rachel. He turned on the stool, found her eyes and her face was illumined.

Other eyes apart from his watched her progress. For a moment he thought it would be fun to pretend that he was the guy she was there for but then he remembered that he _was_ the guy and-

_Flargle._

Not that. Not tonight.

Chandler slid off his stool, took a few steps and met her as she reached the end of her journey.

'Hey.'

'Hey. You look... You look so beautiful.'

He hadn't thought it possible for her to glow more brightly than she had before. But she did. She ducked her head. She smiled up at him. And he wanted her so badly he couldn't speak. Chandler took her hand and led her to the bar, helped her up onto her stool. She leant her elbows against the flat surface, her eyes falling on the ice-bucket and the champagne and the two glasses. He grinned at her, signalled to the barman who opened the bottle with a sigh more than a pop, poured the glasses, removed himself discreetly.

'Uh...' Chandler toyed with the stem of his glass. 'I don't really know any toasts outside of "Cheers".'

'"Cheers" works.'

They touched glasses. He watched the way her eyes drifted closed as she took a sip. The champagne was dry and honeyed and filled his mouth the way her perfume filled his head. Intoxicating. Her blue eyes glowed at him over the rim of her glass.

'So, how was your day?'

Rachel put down her glass. 'Pretty horrible. I mean, nothing life-threatening but just-'

'Like someone's stolen a little piece of your soul.'

'Yes.' She looked at him. 'You get that, huh?'

'Oh, only most days.'

'Honey, you have got to find another job.'

'Yeah, well...' He shrugged. 'That might be easier if I actually knew what I wanted to do. But we are not talking about that. Tonight we are all about the fun.'

'We are?'

'Yes. That, uh, that's the decision I've made.'

'Good decision.' She smiled. 'This is so wonderful. Thank you. This is just-' She took more of her champagne. 'This was such a great idea; I love it. Can we stay here forever?'

'Well, we can for tonight.'

Her head tilted, brow wrinkling. 'What?'

He took a breath. Their elegant surroundings receded, silence poured in where soft laughter and muted conversations had been. 'I booked a room.'

She stared at him, her lips slightly parted. 'You...'

'Yeah, I- Well, so we wouldn't be sneaking around for tonight at least and- I called Phoebe and got her to get some of your clothes for work tomorrow, she dropped them off at my office.' He nudged the overnight bag at his feet with his toe and peered at her anxiously. Her head was bowed, staring down at the bag and she didn't move. This was a suave sort of thing to do. He didn't do suave. Not very well. Someone like Richard and his moustache could probably do it in his sleep. Someone like him stared at the top of a woman's head, rethought everything and hoped to God that she would only be slightly pissed off. She raised her head.

'I can't,' she was blinking rapidly, 'I can't believe you did this.'

'Is this okay?'

'Okay? Chandler...' She shook her head. And then her arms were around his neck. Her lips pressed against his cheek, marked a trail to his lips, kissed him with a ferocity that sent his head spinning in a champagne-coloured haze.

'We're not in that room yet,' he murmured, a bare inch from her mouth; he felt her smile. 'This means I get the good loving tonight, right?'

Her smile widened; she ran one finger down his face. 'Oh yes.'

Their lips touched briefly.

'More champagne?'

'More champagne.'

She propped herself against the bar, her chin resting in her hand and watched him pour the glasses.

ooOoo

'There's a terrace! We have a terrace!' Rachel twirled around the room then stopped herself. She was supposed to be a grown-up now, not someone who became ridiculously excited by the inside of an hotel room, however fancy. And she had been in fancy hotel rooms before.

'And look at the size of the TV! Man, if Joey could see that he'd never go home.' Chandler sprang onto the bed, arms stretched wide. 'Ah! Oh my God, this is the most comfortable bed ever. Seriously, you should check this out.'

Being a grown-up was overrated, she decided. Rachel, still with her shoes on, clambered up beside him and they bounced gently together, turning the mattress into an undulating sea of satin-covered pillows and comforter.

'Happy?' he asked softly, his eyes doing that shifting-colour thing that she had come to find so mesmerising.

'Very happy.'

He smiled, a little lop-sided, got one arm around her waist and pulled her to him.

She took his head between her hands, studied the lines of his face, brushed her lips against his once, twice, the third time his hands slid into her hair and held her there.

The knock at the door, at first discreet then more insistent, parted them.

'I thought we were here to get away from that,' Rachel said, plaintive.

'It's champagne. I ordered champagne.'

'More champagne?'

'You better believe it.'

She raised her eyebrows. 'Wow. Champagne before dinner, wine with dinner, now more champagne ... if I didn't know better I'd say you were trying to get me drunk.'

'Who says I'm not?'

He rolled away from her, sprang across the room, took a moment by the door to straighten his jacket, shaking out his arms ostentatiously. He opened the door.

Rachel slid off the bed, investigated the overnight bag that Phoebe had packed for her. So far, so respectable. Phoebe had done a pretty good job in putting together something Rachel could actually wear for work the next day. Score, Pheebs, she thought. Her fingers closed around something unexpectedly fine and silken. Rachel frowned then her eyes widened in surprise. She closed the bag again, turned to find Chandler placing the ice-bucket and glasses on a table. That done, he performed a repertoire of little skips.

'What's that for?'

'I got the Slipping The Waiter The Tip move down. First time ever.' Another skip.

Rachel laughed. 'You are easily pleased.'

'I've found life easier to deal with that way.'

'Well, while you get that open I'm going to go, uh, freshen up.' She picked up the overnight bag. He watched her curiously.

'Just how fresh do you need to be?'

She smiled, radiant, and slipped into the bathroom.

Marble, lots of mirror, good lighting, she noted. Rachel opened the bag again and pulled out the slip of silk and lace. Just how far down through her drawers had Phoebe gone? She had never even got around to wearing it. It had been bought while she was still with Ross; and then there had been the night when he and Chandler had been sitting around, going through the pages of the catalogue and Ross had pointed out the very item that had, then, still been in its bag in her bedroom and declared with marked disapproval that it was too sexy. It had stayed in the bag, then been put into a drawer and slowly buried. Chandler, she remembered dreamily, Chandler had been far more appreciative.

Score, Pheebs. Again.

When Rachel slipped back out of the bathroom she felt her skin prickle from the combination of self-consciousness and the snap of cool air.

'Chandler?'

'I'm out here.'

She pushed through the filmy curtains and stepped onto the terrace; he turned to meet her, smiling; his eyes wandered over her and he made a strange sound in the back of his throat.

'In case you didn't catch that, I said "flargle".'

'It's not too sexy?'

His eyes took her in again, every part of her that was showing. There was a lot of her showing. 'Let me explain something: there is no such thing as too sexy. Too sexy is not even a concept; it doesn't exist.'

She took a few slow steps towards him. 'So, you like it?'

'That would be an understatement. I love it. I love y- I-I really ... like ... you. In that. I really like you in that.'

'Mm-hmm.' She smiled slightly and went on standing very close to him.

'Yeah, I-' His hands rested on her shoulders, playing with the thin straps. 'I, uh, I'd also like you out of it.'

'Mm-hmm.' She sighed it more, humming the sound. Her hands slid up his chest, along his shoulders, twined around his neck. They met in a heat of kisses and his hands sliding against silk and her skin, finding the lace-edged hem and pushing it up her thighs. Her neck arched under his mouth and she bit down on her lip, swallowing the sound.

'Rachel, you don't have to be quiet.'

'Out here?'

Her breathing was ragged; his eyes held that unearthly glitter again. 'Especially out here.'

ooOoo

'My God.'

'I know.'

'That was amazing. I mean, it's always amazing but that was _amazing_.'

'God, we're good.'

'I think you broke me slightly.'

The laughter drained from his face. 'Did I hurt you?'

'No, I didn't mean that! I just meant... I think some of my brain cells died. And I can't move.'

They sprawled across the bed, tangled in each other, and strands of her hair still fell across her face. Chandler leant across to her, brushed them away, and she smiled at him, her eyes heavy-lidded.

'You know, for the last few weeks I've sort of wanted to shout out that I'm with Chandler Bing.'

He tilted his head. 'Well, I think most of the Upper East Side now knows.'

She frowned. 'Only most? Not all?'

'Eh, the ones who don't are probably deaf.'

She pushed herself up, her lips curling. They looked swollen, reddened. 'Want to see if we can make them hear?'

ooOoo

He poured champagne along the length of her spine, drank it from the hollow of her back. When her skin was damp and sticky he washed her clean; and wreathed in suds and steam she slid her hands over slippery skin and found the ticklish parts that made him gasp with laughter and his eyes snap. They put on their matching hotel robes and sat on the bed and swapped secrets (not necessarily their own).

When she started to fall asleep, when they were curled around each other, Rachel thought that this was everything a love affair was supposed to be.


	10. Fun With Dick And Jane

_Chapter Ten: Fun With Dick And Jane_

The morning sun crawled across the floor, spreading patches of brilliance against the pale carpet and the padded silk walls. It found its way to Rachel's eyes and she squinted against it. It was heaven, she decided, this insulated cocoon. She watched his face, scrunched into his pillow, and how open and vulnerable it looked. One lock of hair fell across his forehead; she moved it back, her fingers lingering against his skin. He stirred slightly and one blue eye opened, fixing on her.

'You're pretty in the mornings.'

'I look like hell.'

'Nah.' His hand found hers, fingers linking. 'You look beautiful.'

'Mornings are not my best time.'

'Me neither.' He yawned widely. 'See? Made for each other.'

She squeezed his hand. 'Yeah, tell me that when you're fully awake.'

Both eyes were open now, both watching her. They had that lazy, hazy, early-morning look. 'I'm awake now. Trust me.'

'Oh?'

He smiled. 'Come here - I'll prove it.'

ooOoo

Rachel looked at the clock and groaned. 'Damn. I have to get to work.'

'Yeah, me too.'

'This sucks.'

'I think that's why they call it work.'

She smiled. 'You think?'

She really was beautiful in the mornings, he thought, with her hair messy and her face free of make-up. The sheet was half-wrapped around her, offering him tantalising glimpses each time she moved. He had developed a fascination with the plane of skin running from her collarbone to the swell of her breast; his fingers danced lightly across it and she lay still, taking in a deep breath and releasing it slowly. She watched him from under heavy-lidded eyes, cat-like.

'Seems like such a waste.'

'What?'

'Check-out's not 'til twelve. That's like four whole hours of naked we won't get to use.'

'That really is a shame.'

He drew a series of tiny spirals across her skin. 'It really is.'

'Why don't we play hooky?'

His fingers stopped. 'What?'

'I'm serious.' She sat up, the sheet slipping away; she was unashamed and glorious in the early-morning light. 'Why don't we phone in, say we can't make work and just-just spend the day in the city? Or we can call each other's work, 'cos, y'know, we're too sick. We can take turns choosing stuff we've never done before.'

'I refuse to shoplift.'

'I-' Her eyes brightened. 'You know _Breakfast at Tiffany's_?'

'Are you kidding me? I love that film.'

'Me too!'

His smile softened; he ran his hand along her cheek. 'It even has a happy ending.'

Rachel turned her head, pressing her lips into the palm of his hand. 'I love happy endings.'

ooOoo

'Did you _have_ to call my work as Janice?'

'It makes it more authentic. Hey, the receptionist actually thought I _was_ Janice.'

'Score,' he said sourly.

'Just how many times did she call you when you were going out?'

'You know, this was not how I pictured breakfast going.'

Rachel grinned. 'Okay, no more Janice talk, I promise.'

'Thank you.'

Back in their matching robes, they sat opposite each other at the small table laden with their breakfast. Rachel held a pastry in one hand, drank some of her coffee, took a bite, sighed happily through a mouthful of crumbs, 'God, I am starving.'

Chandler smirked in response; she rolled her eyes. But she still introduced her foot to his, pressing her toes against his ankle. She saw the corner of his mouth quirk.

'More coffee?'

'Please.' She held out her cup; he caught her eye and smiled again.

'Hey, you know what?'

'What?'

'We look like a real couple.'

'I hate to tell you this,' she said, 'but I think we are a real couple.'

The coffee sloshed in the cup.

'R-really?'

Rachel placed her over-full cup carefully in her saucer. Opposite her, Chandler sat gripping the coffee-pot, eyes fixed on her. 'Yes. Did you think we weren't?'

'I-' He took a breath. 'I don't know. Honestly, I've been trying not to think about it too much just in case, y'know, I got all Chandler and messed it up.'

Rachel slid out of her chair, rounded the table, curled up on his lap, her arms around his neck.

'You're not messing anything up. And neither am I.'

'Hey, and we thought we were pathetic losers!'

'Looks like we were wrong.'

'Yeah, but, y'know...'

'What?'

He shrugged awkwardly, linking his hands at her waist. 'If I'm not being a loser it's only because of you.'

It was so unexpected, the times when he could leave her breathless. She traced the contours of his lips with her fingers then kissed him sweetly.

ooOoo

The city air was still unseasonably chilly, scarves and coats in abundance on the streets. Rachel hooked her arm through his, absorbing warmth.

'Okay, so, where do we start?'

'Uh... I don't know, what do you want to do?'

Chandler veered them around a street-vendor. 'This was your idea.'

'Umm...' She screwed up her face, brow wrinkling. Manhattan. What did she want to do in Manhattan that she had never done before? She tilted her head back, frowning at the crisp blue sky and the silvered fingers of skyscrapers soaring upwards. 'Ooh! I've never been to the top of the Empire State.'

His eyebrows rose. 'Really?'

'Yeah, I mean all the time I've lived here I've walked past it, but-'

'No, I mean that's really what you want to do?'

Her eyes narrowed. 'Why? Or did you think that because it's me I'd want to do something stupid?'

'No-no, I-' Chandler blew out a breath. 'I didn't think anything; I mean, I don't think you're stupid, I never ever thought you were stupid, I just-' He stopped himself, panic visible across his face. 'Okay, let me start again. You: beautiful, glamorous, definitely smart. Me: idiot. I guess I- I guess I always think of you as glamorous and sort of ... up _there_.' He gestured with his hands, drawing a pedestal in the air. 'I sort of forget sometimes how cool and, y'know, normal you are. And smart. Did I mention smart?'

Sweat, there was actual sweat standing out on his forehead. He could feel it, the beads starting their slow slide. A familiar feeling. It had been inevitable, he reflected sadly, that sooner or later he would end up being just him and once that happened everything would just stop. He hadn't thought of it all ending on a crowded sidewalk being jostled by passers-by but then he couldn't really think of anywhere being a good place to end it.

Rachel slipped her arm back through his, rested her head against his shoulder for a moment. 'I'm sorry.'

He blinked, eyes stinging against the air. He told himself. 'Why are you sorry?'

'I just...' She murmured into his coat, tossed her hair back and looked up at him. 'I've never been academic and I know that, and I'm fine with that, I was never all that interested in studying; y'know, not like-' she forced the name past her lips '-not like Ross. And he'd never say it, not to my face, but he- I- I always felt like he thought I was sort of beneath him - intellectually. Like he was the clever one and I was...' She gestured helplessly with one hand. 'I don't know, like I was Eliza Doolittle and he could play professor, like he could turn me into someone else. And I'd feel stupid when I was with him sometimes.'

Rachel stopped talking, biting her lip and staring ahead as they made their slow progress through the snaking lines of human traffic. Chandler placed his hand over hers that lay in the crook of his arm. He remembered the four years of college and the patronising smile that would play across his erstwhile room-mate's face sometimes, the condescension and the over-enunciated smugness. And he tried hard, very hard, to remember that Ross was a good guy; he was a really great, really good guy. He did not deserve to have the back of his head beaten in with a baseball bat; so why did Chandler feel the need to do just that for each time he had hurt Rachel?

'If I made you feel that way-'

'You didn't.' Rachel smiled up at him. 'I guess I'd just sort of got used to it: Barry would be the same way and then Ross and ... and I never used to really mind 'cos I think I thought of myself in the same way but I've realised I'm more than that. It took me a long time to realise that.'

'Yeah, you never really needed that beauty scholarship.'

She frowned. 'What-' Her eyes widened, hand going over her mouth. 'Oh my God! I had totally forgotten about that!'

'Nice to know I leave an impression.' He couldn't help but laugh at the flash of guilt across her face. 'Rach, I'm kidding. You were pretty wasted.'

'Yeah...' Her gaze was fixed in the middle-distance. 'Beauty scholarship. That line.'

'It sucked, I know.'

Her head tilted; her eyes glittered beneath her lashes and her smile was slow. 'Actually, it sort of worked.'

'I knew it!' He pumped the air, coming perilously close to punching an already irate tourist in the nose. 'Sorry, sir, uh ... ma'am.'

'Chandler!' Rachel plucked at his arm, barrelling them through the crowds towards Fifth Avenue.

ooOoo

If they were going to do it, Chandler had told her, they would do it properly. She wanted the top and the top was what she would get. Up on the one-hundred-and-second floor, Rachel gazed through the windows and shivered slightly as the whole of New York was laid out below. Its sprawl was unending, far greater than the boundaries of the Village and Midtown, the only parts she ever really went to. Fragile, somehow, despite its great size, an incongruity caused by their present height.

She turned, located Chandler peering through one of the viewers. 'Trying to see if you can see your apartment?'

He straightened up. 'Joey's doing naked cooking.'

'You can't really see him?'

Chandler's eyes creased; he shook his head. 'You are so easy.'

ooOoo

'Rach, no.'

'Oh, come on.' She was using her best wheedling tone.

'I thought that the idea was we each choose something we've never done that we want to do - not we choose stuff for each other.'

'You just said salsa dancing looks fun and you'd never done it before.'

'Yes, but I didn't mean...' His eyes strayed to the whirling figures on the other side of the glass. Only in this city, he was certain, would they have salsa lessons in a bar in the middle of the day. 'Okay, okay. And I am sorry for standing on your toes.'

'You haven't stood on my toes.'

He took hold of her elbow. 'Yet.'

ooOoo

They were not the most graceful couple on the floor. They were probably the least graceful. Most definitely. Even when Chandler stopped clowning they still tripped over one another's feet and Rachel trod on his toes just as much as he did on hers.

They laughed a lot. They gave up on the steps they were supposed to be learning and made up their own, a pattern they repeated that made no sense to anyone, not even them, but it was theirs and they didn't care. The instructor had, after all, told everyone that it was supposed to be fun.

That same instructor smiled with some indulgence when, after everyone else had gone, that clumsy couple kept their arms around each other and shuffled across the floor to a slow number.

ooOoo

Rachel pressed her lips together and shook her head. 'You know what, I'm not even hungry.'

'Liar.'

She held her eyes wide. 'I am not!'

'Liar, liar! Less then one minute ago you said, "Oh, Chandler, I'm so hungry".'

'Did I say it in that creepy voice?'

He steered her towards the cart. 'It's getting late, you didn't have any lunch and you get cranky when you haven't eaten.'

'I do not.'

'Do too.'

'Do _not_!'

'Hi!' Chandler smiled brightly at the hot-dog vendor. 'She'll have one with everything.'

'What about you?'

'Me?' Chandler shrugged. 'I'm not hungry.'

'Hey!' Her eyes flashed, stormy blue. It was the eyes that pulled you in, he thought, always her eyes; the humour in them that belied her prim rich-girl exterior and then the depths behind that, all the thoughtfulness and sensitivity and vulnerability and Rachel-ness of them. 'If I'm doing it, you're doing it.'

He made himself grin at her and made himself look away from her eyes. 'That'll be two with everything, my good man.'

The vendor blew out a heavy breath, loaded two hot-dogs with the requisite everything and handed them across. Chandler marched determinedly towards a low stretch of wall, Rachel grumbling along behind him. Mustard was dribbling onto her hands. Some stuff she couldn't identify was also dribbling. If it went onto her coat she was going to kill him.

'Sit down and eat.'

She glared at him, still mutinous, but sat beside him and stared in a sort of horrified fascination as he bit into his hot-dog.

'That looks so gross,' she murmured, oblivious to the dollop of sauerkraut that slid gracelessly from her own portable meal and landed close to her foot.

Chandler swallowed. 'Will you just eat it?'

He watched with amusement as the expression on her face changed: apprehension, resignation, surprise and then a sort of delight. 'It's good!'

'I don't get to say "I told you so" very often, so - I told you so!'

Her eyes crinkled. They sat side-by-side and Chandler took his pleasure vicariously, watching her enjoyment.

'If I get addicted to those things,' she said in the end, 'it's all your fault. What?'

'You may be pretty, but you're a messy eater.'

'Huh?'

'You have mustard on your cheek.'

He watched her scrub at it, took pity on her, took the tissue from her hands and wiped away the smear of yellow. 'Can't take you anywhere.'

'I do a lot better with plates and cutlery.'

'Yeah, but that's just too easy.'

They abandoned their wall, circling down into the Channel Gardens and along until they reached the Lower Plaza of Rockefeller Centre.

'Look! The ice rink is still open!' Rachel turned bright eyes on him. 'Ever been ice-skating?'

'Actually, yes. I almost made it onto the figur- Ice hockey. Ice hockey team.'

Her eyes narrowed. You were going to say figure-skating, weren't you?'

'No.'

'Chandler.'

'No.'

'Chandler...'

'Yes.'

Her gaze strayed back to the figures skimming across the white surface. 'Guess that's out then.'

He took hold of her arm. 'But I have never been skating here and not with someone who doesn't know how.'

He could see her thinking it over, seizing on his rationale to allow her to choose the thing that was more for her than it was for him. He didn't mind that. He liked that. Everything was becoming about her: every thought found its way back to her; every moment of his day was coloured by her, by the remembrance of things they had shared and the anticipation of the things still to come.

He didn't mind that, either.

Rachel matched her stride to his, hanging on his arm and looked up at him, amusement dancing across her face. 'Did you make it onto the team?'

'No.'

'Aw. I think you would have looked cute in spandex and spangles.'

ooOoo

Somewhere around the edge of the rink, Rachel decided that this hadn't been such a good idea. She would have cast envious eyes at the girls merrily zipping around - _backwards_, some of them - but she was too busy trying to stay upright. She braced herself against Chandler's arm and let him drag her a few feet. It was ridiculous, she thought: she could _ski, _that was _harder_. Or maybe it wasn't. It was like learning to walk all over again. And if that had been as difficult as this, it was a wonder she had mastered the knack.

'Just relax, you're doing fine.'

Easy for him to say. Chandler moved with ease, with grace. If he didn't have her clumping along beside him he'd probably be zooming around with the pretty skater girls and doing tricks for them and making them laugh. And it would have worked, they would have been entranced by the charming clown in their midst.

She looked at him and the way the exercise had whipped more colour into his face, the way his blue eyes blazed, the way his face was full of laughter. True laughter. For all the jokes he made she had rarely seen him when he looked genuinely and completely happy. He did now. He did when he looked down at her. It wasn't the rich-molasses-melting feeling that seeped through her then and weakened her legs and blurred her brain. This was scalding, tearing at her, taking her apart and remaking her with parts of him etched into her.

'Hey, you're doing it!'

'What?'

'You're totally doing it.'

Too wrapped up in him, Rachel had lost all sense of her own physicality and found that when she hadn't been thinking about it, her body had obediently aligned itself with his. She matched his strokes across the ice - not as graceful, still ragged at the edges, but keeping up.

'Want me to spin you?'

She caught her breath. 'I-'

'Trust me.'

So simple. She nodded.

He took her hand between both of his, leaning back slightly against her weight, spun her around: a satellite in a blur of cold night air and ice bitten by her blades. And she was aware of the strength of his grasp, the solidity holding her steady. When he pulled her towards him her body crashed against his, momentum sending them both towards the barriers. She slithered helplessly and he held her up, still, pressing her against the barrier and brushing her hair away from her face. She could feel his breath against her lips, almost taste him. He studied her, his eyes taking in her face as though he were trying to memorise her.

'Afraid you'll forget what I look like?'

'Nah, I know you. I just want never to forget this moment.'


	11. Who's That Girl?

Rachel knocked, waited patiently in the hallway until she heard the lock click and the bolt drawn back.

'Oh, hey!' Phoebe beamed at her.

'Hi. I wanted to bring you this.' She held out the potted plant. 'It's a thank-you for helping Chandler and me out the other day.'

The blonde's eyes widened. 'Oh!' She took the plant carefully, running one hand lightly over the bright green foliage. 'Hello... Hello, and you are so welcome ... Hugh.'

Rachel's eyebrows went up. 'Hugh?'

'Uh-huh. Definitely,' she nodded, 'definitely Hugh. Ooh, he can live next to Glenda!'

'Great.'

'Do you want to come in?'

'That would be nice.'

She followed Phoebe into the apartment, closed the door behind them, seated herself on the sofa and watched as Phoebe fussed over Hugh, crooning to him faintly. In anyone else she would attribute it to hormones, but Phoebe had always been that way. Nurturing, loving - she would make a wonderful mother. The thought brought a pang of sadness. After all the months of caring for the children growing inside her she would be left with nothing when it was over. And she watched as Phoebe made her way across to the sofa, with that slightly rolling gait she had acquired lately, and she looked so happy. Phoebe was the happiest person Rachel knew, something that always struck her as astonishing when she thought about it, after everything that Phoebe had gone through; but maybe she had just decided not to give herself any choice about it.

Phoebe smiled at her. 'So, how are you?'

'I'm great.'

Phoebe's eyes wandered over her and she nodded slightly, satisfied. 'Yeah, you look it. You guys are getting pretty good at this whole sneaking around thing.'

Rachel blew out a breath, ran her hand through her hair. 'Still can't quite get used to that. And I'm sorry that you're, y'know, involved in all of this.'

'Eh.' Phoebe shrugged. 'I like being the only one who knows. Besides, you guys are really cute when you keep looking at each other when no-one else is looking at you.'

'Oh, we do not- Yeah, we do that.' Rachel sat back against the cushions. 'It's hard, you know?'

'Oh, yes.' Phoebe nodded wisely; off Rachel's look she waved a hand. 'Yeah, it's a really long story.'

They usually were, Rachel thought. 'These last weeks have been amazing but sometimes I can't help thinking that my life would be a lot easier if he were still just my sarcastic friend Chandler instead of _Chandler_...' she sighed the name.

Phoebe looked at her sympathetically. 'But it's worth it, right?'

She paused. 'Yeah. It is so worth it.'

ooOoo

'Hey, Chandler.'

'Uh...' Chandler gave up the hunt for the creamer at the coffee station and looked at the face grinning at him, trying to place it. 'Uh... Patrick! Hey, Patrick.'

And that enthusiasm doesn't make you sound gay at all, he reflected.

Patrick leaned easily against the counter, giving Chandler a flash of his perfect white teeth. 'Hey, are you still friends with Rachel?'

'Last I checked.'

'Huh. You know if she's seeing anyone?'

The loathing that speared through him, white-hot, shocked him. He envisioned emptying Patrick's head of its collection of porcelain teeth. 'Why?'

Patrick shrugged, nonchalant. 'Well, we had a pretty great date and she's,' he offered up a faint smirk, a man-of-the-world smile, 'she's a fun girl.'

Chandler kept his own teeth tight together, smiled thinly.

'So I thought that maybe I'd give her a call, see if she wanted to go out again sometime.'

The coffee-pot and its scalding hot contents were replaced, with great care, on the plate. 'Uh-huh. I thought you dumped her because she wanted something serious.'

Patrick's hands spread. 'Hey, maybe I want that, too.' Another faint smirk accompanied it. The one that said, what she doesn't know won't hurt her.

'Yes.'

'What?'

'Yes, she is seeing someone.'

'Oh.' The smile faded for a moment, then returned for an encore. 'Maybe I should ring her anyway.'

'She's mine.'

'Huh?'

'She's my friend,' Chandler stated, while the possessive male within who got the chance to come out so rarely snarled through his head. 'She's seeing someone; it's serious. And no-one messes her around. Okay?'

The other man stared at him for a moment, mouth open comically, eyebrows raised. 'Sure. Look, I didn't mean anything by it-'

'Good.' He clapped Patrick heartily on his stupidly muscled arm and saw him buckle slightly. 'Well, see ya round.'

He took his still-black coffee, walked back to his office and his inner possessive male roared.

ooOoo

After a weekend of indecisiveness, the New York weather made up its mind, shook off its final mantle of cold and on Monday morning they were met with hazy warmth.

Walking down the street to the coffee house with Monica, only half-listening to her friend's chatter, Rachel felt blissful in her contentment. Perfect day- Well, she did still have to go to work but apart from that it was a perfect day and she had the prospect of lunch with her perfect boyfriend. Who said it wasn't easy being Green?

They reached Central Perk and Rachel tuned Monica back in.

'-like someone's got their hands full.'

'Huh?'

Monica rolled her eyes, stared pointedly through the café's window. 'Chandler.'

Rachel followed the gaze. And stared.

'I-' She cleared her throat. 'You know what, Mon, I remembered something I have to do.'

The brunette frowned. 'Are you okay?'

'Yeah, yeah, sure, I'm fine. I'm great. I just, uh, I just have to-have to go.'

ooOoo

Chandler weaved his way through the lunchtime traffic, slid into the booth opposite Rachel. 'Hey, sorry I'm late.'

She made a non-committal noise, studied her menu.

'Rough day at work?'

Her shoulders rose, held for a moment, fell.

'Okay...'

Chandler watched her carefully; she didn't raise her head. He opened his menu; after a moment she set to work on her chopsticks, breaking them apart and sliding the shafts against each other so hard he half-expected to see sparks. Their waiter popped up beside the table, beaming down at them.

'Are you ready to order?'

Rachel dropped the chopsticks. 'Whatever he's having, he'll take an order of cheap blonde on the side.'

His menu was snapped shut; Chandler looked up at the waiter's bemused face. 'We're going to need a few minutes.'

'Sure.' The young man backed away, turned hastily and melted into the crowd.

Chandler's hands spread, palms up. 'What the hell?'

Rachel tossed the hair away from her shoulders, leant across the table forcefully and Chandler instinctively recoiled. 'I saw you this morning,' she hissed.

'What?'

'Never mind what, I'll give you what. Do you know what?'

'What?'

'Do you know what?'

'What?'

'Do you-'

'Oh my God, Rachel!'

'I saw you in Central Perk with that-that-that _blonde_.'

She sat back, triumphant, her blue eyes blazing and hard.

'You saw me with a blonde,' he said slowly.

'Oh, yes, yeah, uh-huh. So don't even think about giving me any runaround, buddy. Y'know, I expect this sort of thing from Joey; God, I even expect it from Ross - but _you? _I honestly thought you were better than this. Even this morning I was thinking how I've got this perfect boyfriend and-'

He grinned despite himself. 'You think I'm perfect?'

Her face twitched. 'Not anymore! You didn't even take her somewhere you wouldn't be seen. Do-do' -she fanned her hand in front of her face, blinking rapidly- 'do you really have so little respect for me?'

Chandler linked his hands together on the table, leant forward a little. He kept his eyes on her face and his voice low and steady. 'Rach, that blonde girl is called Donna-'

'_Donna_,' a snort.

'-and she's Joey's date from two night's ago.'

'She- What?'

He fought down the impulse to laugh. 'She and Joey had a date and it followed the usual pattern of Joey dates.'

Rachel was silent for a moment. 'You mean he slept with her.'

'Uh-huh.'

'And then didn't call her.'

'Two-for-two. She turned up this morning and she was pretty upset.'

He saw her shoulders stiffen again. 'So, why were _you_ talking to her in the middle of Central Perk?'

'Because I figured she'd get even more upset if she met Joey's date from _last_ night.'

'Oh. Oh...'

'Yeah.'

'So...'

'So, I took her down to get some coffee and she cried all over me for half-an-hour. I was beyond glad when Monica showed up.' He paused. 'She cries really loudly.'

Rachel frowned. 'Monica?'

'Donna,' he said patiently. 'And that's not the only thing she does loudly.'

Distaste flickered across her face.

'Anyhow, that was it.'

'That-' Rachel sucked in a breath. 'That's actually really sweet.'

Chandler shrugged awkwardly. 'That's what Joey's dates usually tell me, too. I make them pancakes in the morning,' he explained. 'Joey does the sex part, then I do the other stuff. Like talking to them.'

He saw the lines of her face soften, settle, the hardness in her eyes rewrite itself into something more familiar. 'Okay,' she said, 'I'm back to thinking you're pretty great. I'm sorry.'

'It's okay. It's good; it's great. Actually, this is the best day ever.'

She stared at him. 'How is this a good day?'

He smiled. 'Because you were jealous. Rachel Karen Green, ladies and germs, was jealous of me.'

'I was not-' She broke off, twirled her hair around her fingers, resumed in a careless tone, 'I was not jealous.'

'Oh, yes you were.'

'No, I wasn't.'

'You were! Admit it. You were jealous because I had my arm around some blonde. You were jealous of me. _You_ were jealous of _me_.'

'I- You- Oh, shut up.'

'Great comeback.'

'Are you done smirking?'

'Not quite, I'm doing my happy dance on the inside. Seriously, Rach, how could you think that I would cheat on you?'

She went back to fiddling with her chopsticks. 'I don't know. It's just- I don't know. I really am sorry.'

'It's okay. It's better than okay.'

Her eyes flashed a warning. 'Don't start that again.'

'Wasn't gonna.' He grabbed hold of her hand, pulled her up out of her seat, dragged her between the tables towards the back of the restaurant and a quiet corridor.

'What are you-'

He pulled open a door, glanced inside, bundled both of them into it, closed the door behind them, pressed her up against it.

'We-' She was gasping, eyes wide and darkened. 'We-we can't ... not here.'

'Can't we?'

The air between them was thickened with the brain-fogging heat-haze of desire. Her faint protests died when she twined herself around him, her neck arching under his mouth. He revelled in her. Gloried in the feeling of silken skin stretched over taut muscle, of her hair against his face, of her breath ragged, of the sweet taste of her. She was his. No-one else could have her and there was no-one else he wanted. He abandoned words - his usual defences - and made her feel it, made her say it.

She was his, and he was hers.

Afterwards, back out in the corridor, her hand in his, they met their waiter again; he stopped, startled, stared at them with the same bemused expression.

'We're going to need that sushi to go,' Chandler told him brightly and heard Rachel giggling behind him.


	12. The Outing

Chandler kept his hands resolutely over his eyes. 'I'm going to count down from three and you had better be ready. Okay?'

There was a faint scratching sound.

'Okay. Three, two, one.' Chandler dropped his hands, opened his eyes. His shoulders sagged. 'Once again you are failing to grasp the concept of hide-and-seek.'

Yasmine puffed up her feathers, shook herself, pecked benignly at the carpet. The duck was asleep. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, Chandler regarded the birds bitterly and shook his head. 'You know, we've been doing this so long I'd have thought you guys would be used to it by now.'

A cluck in response, and the frantic beating of flightless wings. That done, Yasmine wandered in the direction of Joey's room.

'Oh, now you go hide. You know that I can see you, right?' A knock at the door. 'Oh, don't worry, I'll get it.'

Chandler scrambled up, jogged lightly across, opened the door and felt his good mood evaporate. 'He-ey. Hey, Ross.'

'Hi.' Doleful.

Oh God, not doleful Ross. Please not doleful Ross. I can't take Ross being ... doleful. I am so not winning the Friend Of The Year award.

Chandler plastered on a grin. It made his face hurt. 'Hey, buddy. You, uh, you want to come in?'

Ross sighed heavily, moved into the apartment, sank into one of the Barcaloungers and stayed there, unmoving, looking crumpled. He sighed again. 'Joey here?'

'Nope. Nobody here but us chickens.'

From the bedroom, Yasmine let out a strangulated crow. Ross nodded.

'You want a beer?'

'Yeah, I guess.'

'All righty. Coming right up, yes indeedio.' It was fortunate, he thought on reflection, that Ross was too steeped in misery to notice that his friend was one garbled sentence away from a nervous breakdown. Chandler retrieved the beers, opened the bottles, passed one to Ross, took a long pull from his own and reluctantly lowered himself into his chair. It had never felt so uncomfortable. Lumpy. He was sticking to the leather. He'd be writing a strongly worded letter to _Sit_ magazine about this.

Ross took a small sip from his beer, held the bottle between his hands; he gave up a small, sad smile. 'I haven't seen you around much lately.'

'Yeah, well, it's been, y'know, busy, with ... stuff. And, uh, work and ... stuff.' Chandler cleared his throat, took another pull on his beer. He thought longingly of the emergency pack of cigarettes taped to the back of the cistern. 'So, uh, how are things with you?'

'Oh...'

Don't mention Rachel. Please, in the name of all that is pure and holy, please do not talk about Rachel.

'You know Rachel's dating some married guy?'

Chandler's shoulders sagged, resigned. 'Yeah, I heard that.'

'I can't' -Ross shook his head- 'I can't believe that. I mean, who is this guy anyway?'

'Uh...' Chandler opted for bafflement, spreading his hands.

'And you know what? Monica said this is the happiest she's ever seen her.'

Despite himself, despite all - or even any - of his finer feelings, despite the guilt and the self-loathing now multiplied in the face of Ross' unhappiness, Chandler felt the rising swell of triumph.

Another shake of the head, bafflement now written across Ross' features. 'I just don't get it. It sounds like this is something really serious, and- How can she be happy with someone like that? I mean, the guy has a wife.'

'They're separated; they're divorcing,' he said, speaking as Josh- no, _Joshua_ would. 'Y'know, it's like they're on a break.' Ross' head snapped up. And he was back to speaking as Chandler would.

'Dude, that's not funny.'

Chandler held up his hands. He slid back into the embrace of his Barcalounger, still strangely aware of all of its sudden flaws and watched Ross carefully. 'Look, if Rachel can be happy with ... this ... other guy... Isn't that a good thing? I mean, you want her to be happy, right?'

Ross studied the bottle in his hands, picked at the edge of the label. 'Yeah... Yeah, I guess. I just...'

Don't say it. Not that.

'I guess I just figured somewhere down the line she'd still end up being happy with me.'

And there it was, Chandler thought miserably; there it was.

ooOoo

Monica poured out the Margaritas, sat back on the sofa. 'We haven't done this in a long time.'

'Hung out on the sofa?'

She rolled her eyes good-naturedly at Rachel. 'No. I mean this.' She gestured at the detritus of their girls' night in. 'Just the three of us, swapping secrets, cocktails-'

'Phoebe's drinking orange juice.'

'I know, but it's still fun.'

Rachel smiled in return; Monica's enthusiasm was infectious and irresistible. And a long evening of gossiping was always a good time, even if most most of Phoebe's gossip danced on the edge of disturbing. Rachel took a sip of her drink, sighed in contentment, drowsy. She felt herself sinking into the sofa cushions. 'So...' So relaxed she could barely get the words out. 'So, what about this guy at work?'

'Oh... Oh, y'know... I dunno.' Monica, coy. She'd be half-ducking her head, studying the rug. Rachel smiled to herself.

'He's cute, though - right?'

'Oh, yeah, I mean, he's okay. I guess. If you like cute.' Monica sighed. 'He is cute. He tells jokes. A lot. He makes me laugh. He... He sort of reminds me of Chandler. That's weird, right? That would be weird.'

'Mm. Not if he's as good a kisser as Chandler.'

She heard the words again, echoing in her head after she had said them. Her eyes snapped open and she found Monica staring at her.

'What?'

'Huh?'

Monica's mouth worked, wordless. 'You kissed Chandler?'

'I-'

'Wha- When?'

Her mind stuttered over her apartment, his apartment, the back seat of a taxi cab, a hotel room, a restaurant-

'R-remember when we visited Ross at college? Hey, remember that guy who kissed you in Ross' dorm room?'

Monica's face softened, her eyes sliding past Rachel. 'My Midnight Mystery Kisser. Wow, I haven't thought about him in a long time.'

'Yeah,' Rachel leant forward, fascinated. Apparently. 'Did you ever find out who that was?'

'No... But, y'know, sometimes I think... It's silly.'

'What?'

She shrugged, awkward. 'Sometimes I think he was my first kiss for a reason. Y'know, one day I'll meet a guy and we'll kiss and it will be ... _him_ ... and-and it will be like it's have meant to be.'

Rachel took hold of her hand. 'Oh, sweetie.'

'I told you it was silly.'

'No.' She shook her head. 'No, it isn't.'

'Anyway, what about you and Chandler?'

Rachel let go of her hand.

'It wasn't anything. It was while we were dancing and then he came up to me and we got talking and then I went to get another drink and then we made out a little. A very little. Tiny, you'd hardly even notice.'

Monica blew out a breath. 'How come you never told me? You told me everything.'

'I...' She forced a smile. 'I was pretty drunk; I mean, I didn't even remember it had happened for a long time, but, well, I see Chandler every day so I was going to remember it sometime, right?'

'Uh-huh.' Monica drank down a healthy portion of her Margarita. 'I still can't believe it... You and Chandler, that's wild.'

'Oh great, you told her!' Phoebe, emerging from the bathroom, beamed at them happily. 'Now enough of us know that you can tell Ross - you guys can just be like a regular couple. Oh, yay!' She clapped her hands.

'What?'

'What?'

'Phoebe!'

'Oh no.' The blonde sank into the armchair, avoiding Rachel's furious eyes.

Rachel turned her glare from Phoebe to Monica and met a curiously blank expression.

'I-'

'You and Chandler?'

'I- Yes.'

'I can't believe this.'

'I know. I know, sweetie, I have wanted to tell you about this for so long, but-'

'I can't believe this - you do this every time!'

Rachel stared at her. 'What?'

'Every guy, _every_ guy, you just have to have him, don't you?'

'Wh- what are you talking about?'

'Oh, please! It was the same in high-school. Every guy I liked you had to have-'

'Wait a minute, since when did you like Chandler?'

'Guys-' Phoebe, quiet, tense.

'-And now you're doing it again!'

'This has nothing to do with you!'

Monica's eyes wandered over her, scathing. 'You can't stand anyone showing an interest in me, can you?'

'Hey, you guys-'

Rachel tossed the hair away from her shoulders. 'Chandler interested in you- Are you talking about that weekend at the beach?'

'Yeah, that. And other things.'

'You spent the whole time turning him down!'

'That's not the point!'

'Oh, isn't it? Or is it that you don't want him but you don't want anyone else to have him? Well, here's the newsflash: I do. I want him. And I've got him and you- You'll just have to get used to that.'

Rachel stood, started towards her door, caught her shin against the corner of the coffee-table, reached her bedroom, slammed the door shut. She leant against it, shaking, her throat tightening. She closed her eyes against the prickling behind them.

ooOoo

Chandler sat and listened while Ross talked. About how he wanted to be happy for Rachel, but just couldn't. About how he wanted to wish her well, but somehow her misery without him would be preferable (admittedly, he didn't actually _say_ that but it was there beneath the words). About how moving on was so hard for him.

And Chandler listened, and nodded, and drank his beer. And he remembered the endless nights in college and the whirring hum of Ross' humidifier and layered over that his talks about Rachel: dissecting her, every word, every look, every gesture. The night he had flicked on the lights again and finally shown Chandler a picture of this goddess. He remembered blinking, blearily, screwing up his eyes against the sudden bright assault and squinting at the slightly out-of-focus photograph of a pretty girl with a noticeable nose and a bored expression.

He remembered meeting her for the first time, seeing her again when she had gone with Monica to visit Ross. Then, years later, at the bar when he had hoped to be her final meaningless fling. Then she had walked back into their lives in a tragic trail of wet silk and lace and she had been his friend. She had been his friend. Then she had been the girl curled in his Barcalounger, kissing him with an undisguised need that still astonished him. He remembered her wrapped in his plaid dressing gown eating cereal first thing in the morning, sitting cross-legged on his bed. He remembered every pore of her skin, the feel and the scent and the taste of her.

And Ross talked on, and he withered inside.

ooOoo

The first knock at the door was ignored. Rachel stared at the lines of the book she wasn't reading. There was a second knock, then the handle turned and the door opened.

Monica, she thought without emotion, had disabled the lock again.

The dark head appeared around the door, peered at her anxiously. 'Hey.'

'Hey.'

The rest of Monica eased around it, holding a plate in both hands. 'I baked some cookies.'

'Uh-huh. They-they, uh, smell good.'

'Can I come in?'

Rachel raised her shoulders, let them fall. 'Sure. Where's Phoebe?'

'She went home.' Monica placed the plate on the dresser, sat on the edge of Rachel's bed. 'I am so sorry.'

Rachel felt the prickle behind her eyes again, and the tension on her nerves begin to ease. 'Mon, it's-'

'No.' Monica shook her head. 'I reacted horribly and- And I have no excuse. This is such a huge thing and-and I am just so sorry.'

Rachel swivelled, took Monica's hands between hers. 'Sweetie, if I thought for a moment that you had feelings for Chandler-'

'I don't. It was- It wasn't anything.' Monica's blue eyes were clear and steady. She shrugged. 'I guess I've just sort of got used to being the one that he flirted with. And... And I guess I still sort of liked the idea of you as my sister-in-law.'

'Oh...'

The two girls held each other. When they parted Monica smoothed down her hair and flashed Rachel a swift smile. 'Would you like a cookie?'

'Yeah, I really would.'

She stood, picked up the plate, held it uncertainly.

'You know what? I can eat those over the sink.'

Monica's face was luminous with relief. 'Oh, you don't have to do that - you can eat them at the table.'

At the table, careful with the crumbs and with glasses of milk, Monica watched Rachel curiously. 'So...'

Rachel looked at her.

'You and Chandler?'

She let out a breath. 'Yeah. Me and Chandler.'

'Is he ... romantic ... with you?'

She told her about the Hermes scarf. About the Four Seasons and the dancing and the skating at the Rockerfeller Centre.

'Chandler? _Our_ Chandler?'

Rachel smiled. 'The one and only.'

'Huh.' Monica broke her cookie between her fingers, dunked one of the pieces in her glass. 'Rach... You're going to have to tell Ross.'

'I know.'

'You're my best friend and I love you; but he's my brother - I can't lie to him. Not even for you.'

She sighed. 'I know. We just... It's been going really well and we didn't want to tell anyone and get it all messed up. And-and there was always the thing that if it all went wrong no-one would ever have to know but us. And...'

'And?'

Rachel took a breath, held it. 'And if Ross knew that would be it for him and me. Sooner or later I'm going to have to make that choice.'

'Sweetie, it sounds like you've already chosen.'

She nodded. 'I know.'

ooOoo

The cellophane crinkled between his fingers. He played with it for a moment, enjoying the ritual of it, before screwing it up and tossing it into the bin. Chandler shook out one of the cigarettes, placed it between his lips, pulled himself up onto the windowsill, leaning almost halfway out, lit the cigarette and pulled the smoke into his lungs.

He watched the long plume flow from his lips, dissipated by the fine drizzle falling, a dreary sheet against the night. His head was getting wet. He deserved to have his head get wet. He pulled in another breath, hard, the smoke searing his throat, burning deeper down. His eyes watered and he blinked hard. Coughed slightly. It wasn't enough; this self-punishment wasn't enough.

'Thanks, man.' Ross, resting his hand on his shoulder, squeezing it gently and smiling, sad but grateful. And Chandler had smiled his Judas smile.

He'd always been the nice guy, the good guy. He wasn't the guy who screwed over his friends; hell, he wasn't even the guy who screwed over his enemies. Did he have enemies? Don't go down that road. He was a nice guy, not perfect, but nice. Not perfect, but Rachel thought he was - or maybe she had just made him that way.

Would his leaving her break her heart the way it would his? He'd be the guy wandering around a sports stadium crying that it used to their place and sobbing into his popcorn. That's what he deserved. Because Ross was his best friend and Chandler was still the nice guy and he would end it, it would be over. He didn't really need a heart anyway.

Chandler tossed the cigarette, pulled himself back inside, spent five minutes pacing the floor, then crossed the hall, knocked once on the door and opened it.

Monica and Rachel stared up at him from the kitchen table.

'Hey, uh- Hey.'

Monica pressed her lips together, glanced at Rachel, then smiled brightly. 'Hey. And I have... I have laundry to do.' She stood, grabbed the basket that appeared to have three socks and a sweatshirt in it and headed towards the door. She bumped her shoulder gently against his, then pulled back, her nose wrinkling.

'You might want to stay downwind of Smokey Smokerson,' she told Rachel over her shoulder. 'I, uh, I'll leave you guys to talk.'

The door closed. Chandler stood for a moment, frowning; his feet started to move without his permission, gravitating towards Rachel. 'That was weird, even for Monica, oh my God she knows!'

'Yes.'

Also without his permission his legs buckled, depositing him on the chair next to her. 'Wh- What? Why? How?'

Rachel held her head in her hands then looked up at him. Her eyes looked suspiciously moist, pink-rimmed. 'It just sort of slipped out.'

'Slipped?' He stared at her. 'Slipped? How-how-how-how?'

'It just-' She waved her hands, shook her head. 'It doesn't matter.'

'Doesn't matter?' His voice, he was quite sure, never used to be that high-pitched.

'Chandler...'

'Okay. It's okay. Everything's okay...' Her eyes were still moist. Chandler took hold of her hand. 'Oh God, everything's okay isn't it?'

She held onto him. 'Yeah. Monica freaked out a bit but, y'know, that's Monica; but she's fine now. She's happy for us. But-but we have to tell Ross.'

'Yeah.' His free hand ran through still-damp hair. 'He came by.'

Rachel's head jerked.

'He's pretty broken-up over you and "Joshua".'

'Oh God...'

'Rach, I have never felt so bad over anything in my life. I sat there and listened while he told me how miserable he is and then he thanked me for being a good friend.'

Her fingers laced through his. 'And then you came over here to break up with me.'

'I- Yeah.'

She smiled, sweet and sad. 'Guess it's a good thing I told Monica, then. 'Cos he's going to find out anyway.'

Silent for a moment, then Chandler nodded. 'I'll tell him.'

She bit down on her lip, holding it between her teeth.'Chandler, I-'

'No. I should be the one to do it. I owe him that, I guess.'

Rachel couldn't quite hide the relief on her face. 'But not tonight? Tell him tomorrow?'

He cupped her face in his hand. 'Tomorrow.'


	13. Since I Left You

The way it went in his head had variations.

Scenario one involved Ross staring at him, silent, mouth hanging open like a fish. And when the power of speech was finally regained he would denounce Chandler soundly.

_'You're a blot on the face of humanity, Chandler Bing.'_

_'I know, man, I know-'_

_'You're a traitor; you're a cad; you're-'_

Wait: cad? A cad? Who the hell calls someone a cad these days? Well, I guess the one thing I can be grateful to Mom for is my extensive vocabulary of archaic terms. Archaic. Huh. That's a funny word.

Scenario two also involved Ross looking stunned for some moments. But then-

_'You know what? If I had to see Rachel with anyone else, I'd want it to be you. You're both such great people, you totally deserve to be happy together.'_

_'You're a big man, Ross.'_

_'No, no, I'm not. I just really love you guys. You're like a brother to me, man. I guess that makes Rachel sort of like my sister now. And that's how I'll think of her from now on - as a sister.'_

Chandler worked out the odds of the occurrence of such a touching, if somewhat saccharine, scene and came up with a well known phrase or saying containing the words snowball, chance and hell.

The third scenario began much as the others did, with the same wordless horror. And then came the demonic glint in Ross' eye. Mild-mannered dino-guy one moment, axe-wielding mad-man the next. Where the axe came from, Chandler wasn't sure, but there it was. And Ross chased him through the streets, swinging his axe, cornered him in an alley, then Rachel appeared and flung herself, sobbing, across Chandler's prostrate form, but Ross tore her away, laughing maniacally and-

'Hey, man.'

'Gah!'

Ross looked down at him, quizzical. 'You okay?'

Chandler stared back, wild-eyed. 'Yeah, yeah, I'm good, I'm great. How are you? Are you good?'

'I'm ... okay.' Ross took the opposite end of the sofa, placed his briefcase neatly beside his feet. Chandler eyed it nervously.

'Uh... Okay, weird question: do you- Do you ever carry, say, an axe in that?'

Ross blinked slowly. 'Why, yes, I do. I also have a shield and a jousting lance in there.'

Chandler laughed. Too much. 'That- that's good.' He blew out a breath. 'Oh, I, uh, got you a coffee.'

'Oh, thanks.' Ross pulled the cup towards him, took a sip. 'So, what is it?'

'What's what?'

'What did you want to see me about?'

Chandler hesitated. Maybe Central Perk hadn't been the best venue for this after all. Maybe no place on the planet was a good venue for this. Maybe he and Rachel could just pretend to Monica and Phoebe that they'd broken up and keep on sneaking in and out of each other's rooms for the rest of their lives. Maybe he could still make that flight to Yemen. He rearranged himself on the sofa, looking fully at Ross.

'Ross. Ross... Hey, Ross.'

'Yeah?'

'I...' Another breath. He couldn't get enough air into his lungs. 'It's... See, the thing is...'

'Chandler- Okay, you're staring to freak me out a bit; what-what's wrong?'

He looked worried, concerned, his gaze focused and attentive. Chandler closed his eyes for a moment, gulped down another breath.

'Okay. It's about Rachel and-and the guy she's been seeing.'

Ross blinked again. 'Okay.'

'There is no Joshua. Well, there is, he's some guy she met at work, a client, but he isn't- they aren't dating.'

Ross frowned, one hand turning palm-up. 'Why would she say she's seeing him?'

'Because she didn't want you to know the name of the guy she really is seeing; y'know, just like I told you guys I'm seeing Janice.'

'What's Janice got to do with this?'

'Nothing, Ross, that's what I'm saying. I'm not dating Janice again; Rachel isn't dating Joshua. We just- It's me. I'm the guy. I'm the guy she's been seeing.'

It wasn't the fish-face Ross wore. It was a closed, granite-like expression as though he had not heard the last few moments. A strange whistling sound came through barely-parted lips.

'I'm sorry, Ross, I am so so sorry. I didn't- _We_ didn't mean for it to happen, but it did and then ... it just kept on happening. And we didn't think it would last this long but it has; and we didn't want to tell anyone until we figured out where this was going, if it was going anywhere; and we really didn't want to hurt you. Ross. Ross, man, say something.'

His mouth worked, tongue flicking out moistening his lips. 'Y-you... You and Rachel.'

'Yes.'

'You and Rachel?'

'Yes.'

'_You_ and _Rachel_?'

Somewhere in the background a tray of coffee-cups fell to the ground, shattering. Chandler flinched. 'Yeah.'

'I don't believe this.'

'I know; and-'

'How long?'

'Uh... It's been, uh, about a month, a bit more, maybe. Nearly two.'

'I mean how long have you been after her, huh?'

'I- What? No. No! It wasn't like that.'

'Oh... Oh, I see, one day you just looked at her and thought, "Gee, I think I'll date Rachel" - you expect me to believe that?'

'Wh-'

'Or is that what you do now, you steal other people's girlfriends?'

'I haven't stolen-'

'Oh really?'

'Yeah, really.'

'Oh _really_?' Ross' face screwed up. 'First you stole Kathy and now Rachel; what is that, your new thing?'

'Hey! That is so not fair, that is not- What happened with me and Kathy was a whole different thing.'

A snort. 'Oh _really_?'

'God, you know what, Ross? Rachel isn't your girlfriend anymore. You had your chance with her, more than one, and you blew it every time! It's someone else's turn now.'

'Oh, and that's what you've been waiting for-'

'No, I haven't! Look, I didn't want to feel this way about her, I didn't set out to get her, but it happened. And I've been beating myself up about it because you're my friend, you're my best friend, but Rachel is not yours. Not anymore. And you don't get to say what she does, or who she dates, or who she falls in love with.'

There was a breath of laughter, that sound that was always more incredulous, scornful, than humorous. 'You think she's in love with you?'

Uncertainty then, sudden and paralysing. 'I...'

'I am.'

Her voice seemed to come from a long way off. Both men turned, looked up, found Rachel standing at the back of the sofa.

'I am in love with him.' She smiled slightly at Chandler, shrugged. 'I couldn't let you do it on your own.'

He tried to say her name but his mouth was dry, thick. He stared at her.

Rachel's eyes moved from him to Ross and back again.

'Can you give us some time?'

'Rach-'

'It will be okay.'

Her face was serious, always so beautiful when she was serious.

'Are- Are you sure?'

'Yeah.' She nodded. 'Yeah, I'm sure. I'll see you later.'

Chandler glanced at Ross. There it was, the fish-face. He was watching them without really seeing them, it seemed. Chandler rested his hand over Rachel's for a moment as he moved past her, squeezed it. She smiled back fleetingly.

Chandler pulled on his jacket, took small slow steps towards the door. Lost in thought, and the sinking sensation that he was leaving Rachel to face an untold doom by herself, he didn't notice the figure blocking the door until he was on top of it.

'Oh, hey, Gunther.'

'You-' Gunther's face twitched; he clutched a dustpan filled with broken crockery. 'You!' He rounded abruptly, marched back to the bar. Chandler sighed, stepped out onto the street.

ooOoo

Rachel sat on the edge of the sofa cushion, body half-turned towards Ross, looking ready to bolt at any second. She forced herself further back in the seat, brushed the hair out of her eyes.

'If you want to be mad at someone you can be mad at me,' she said, 'I'm the one who went after him. But to be honest, Ross, I don't really see how you get to be mad at all. We haven't done anything wrong.'

He jolted slightly, animation flooding back into his face. 'You haven't _done_-'

'No, we haven't.' She kept her voice low, calm. It was easier that way with Ross, not to be sucked into the _sturm und drang _of his emotions; that was too draining, and she was out of practice.

'You're my ex-girlfriend; he's my best friend and you-you've been sneaking around behind my back and-'

'And maybe we shouldn't. Maybe we should have just come right out and said it but we didn't-we didn't want you to get hurt. And we knew you would. But I can't-' She took a breath. 'I can't go through the rest of my life worrying about what's going to affect you, or making myself not feel something for someone because you might not like it. It isn't fair. And what happens between me and Chandler isn't really anything to do with you, but we've made it about you, both of us, because neither one of us could bear the thought of how it would make you feel when you found out.'

Had she slapped him, Rachel thought, he could not have looked more shocked. More hurt. It was ridiculous that a grown man could make himself look so pathetically childlike; even more ridiculous that she should feel pain with him, for him, that the thought danced through her mind that she should tell him it had all been a hoax in extremely poor taste. She steeled herself.

Ross looked away from her, studying the tabletop.

'You knew that sooner or later we'd be seeing other people, we'd be moving on.'

'Yeah, I just expected you to move a little further than my best friend,' he snapped.

Rachel sighed. 'God, you are going to have to get over that part-'

'Oh, _oh!_' His dark eyes glittered. 'Excuse me if it's taking me a little longer than the ten seconds I've known about this whole thing to _get over it_.'

She raked her hands through her hair, held onto the threads of calm that were starting to slip away.

Ross, apparently, was also making efforts at control; he was breathing hard. 'Okay. Okay, just tell me this: why him?'

'I don't-' She shook her head. 'I don't know. I didn't choose this, Ross, it happened.'

'Gee, you guys really got your stories straight. What did you do, rehearse?'

'No, we're just being honest with you.'

'Finally.'

She pressed her lips together for a moment. 'Yes, finally.'

Ross leant forward slightly, his eyes fixed on her face, reading every line, every flicker. 'You know that this is it, right? For us, I mean; if you've been with Chandler, that-that messes up everything, y'know, we could never ... we could never be _us_ again.'

'Ross... We haven't been an "us" for a long time now.'

'I know, but- I know we've always been on-again, off-again, I just, I dunno, I guess I always figured that one day we'd be on again.' He looked at her, hopeful.

'I know,' Rachel said gently. 'And for a long time I think I felt that way, too; but I just don't anymore. I don't want that. Face it: we were a horrible couple. We made each other miserable. And I know we tried, God, we tried so hard; but I think ... I think that if you have to try _that_ hard at something then it just isn't working. But with me and Chandler... It works. It just works. I don't know why, but it does.'

'Chandler's easier than me?'

Rachel bit back a smile, responded cautiously: 'In some ways.'

The familiar rhythms of Central Perk hummed around them as they sat, silent. Rachel twisted her hair around her fingers; her hands came back to her lap, linking together. She looked at him again. 'I'm sorry you were hurt; and I'm even more sorry that we were the ones who hurt you.'

A faint noise somewhere in the back of Ross' throat.

'Ross... Ross? Are you okay?'

He met her eyes glassily. 'I'm...' His face contorted, something approximating a smile working it's way around his mouth and not quite making it. 'I'm fine.'

ooOoo

The door to the apartment flew open, almost rebounding against the wall with the force. Joey stood in the doorway, staring at him.

'Dude!'

Chandler slid his hands into his pockets, smiling slightly at his room-mate's dazed expression.

'I guess you heard the news, huh?'

'Heard? Hell, yeah, I heard. You and Rachel?'

'I know.'

'This-this is huge! I mean, it's great, but this is huge!'

Chandler's smile widened, 'Yeah, it really is.'

Joey closed the door, crossed the room. 'I can't believe you didn't tell me.'

'We didn't tell anyone, Joe.'

'Yeah, I know, but it's you and Rachel! And she is _hot_.'

They grinned at each other.

'And you're okay about this? You're not freaking out on me?'

'No. I mean, it's like _whoa!_' Joey's hands waved in the air. 'But no, no, it's-it's great. Du-ude!' He punched Chandler happily on the arm; then pulled back, serious. 'So, now that you're with Rachel that means that you're gonna stop seeing Janice, right?'

Actual pain speared between Chandler's temples; he took a breath. 'Yes, Joe.'

Joey grinned again. 'Dude!'


	14. From This Moment On

Monica let herself into her brother's apartment, saw the figure sitting forlornly on the couch; he had folded in on himself, sitting in the semi-gloom, staring at nothing.

'Hey.'

He didn't look up. 'Hey.' His voice was toneless, dull.

Monica flicked on a lamp, crossed the room and sat beside him. 'Are you okay?'

'I dunno...' He shook his head, roused himself, sat forward. 'I feel like such an idiot. I mean, I actually went to see Chandler, someone I could talk to, about Rachel and the whole time, the _whole_ time, he was just sitting there and it was him. He's the one she's been... You know, I started making a list of all the ways that Chandler has let me down before this.'

'Okay. And, uh, how far did you get?'

His shoulders sagged again; he sat back. 'I didn't. I couldn't think of anything. He's always been a really ... a really great guy.' She laid her hand on his arm, squeezed it sympathetically. 'I _hate_ that.'

Monica was silent. He turned his head slightly. 'Does everyone know?'

'By now, yes. Phoebe knew pretty much from the start, I think. I found out last night.'

He sighed deeply, sat back, his head falling heavily against the back of the sofa.

'Maybe,' Monica hesitated, carried on, 'maybe this is a good thing.'

'Oh yeah, this is excellent.'

A momentary impatience that she squashed down. 'I mean maybe now you can really move on, get over Rachel once and for all. Haven't you been trying to do that for, what, months?'

'I guess. But this ... this is _Rachel_. You know?'

'I know.'

'I just can't believe they'd do this - and behind my back.'

'They didn't want to-'

'-Hurt me, yeah, I know. They were both really clear about that.'

Monica watched him carefully. 'You know, Rachel told me that after you talked to Chandler last night he came over to break up with her.' She looked at him pointedly.

'You mean because...'

'Yeah, because he felt so guilty about you.'

'I don't-' Ross stared into the middle-distance, frowned, shook his head. 'I don't want to be _that_ guy. Rachel said- She said she's in love with him. Do you think he's in love with her?'

Monica bit down on her lip. 'Yes. I really do.'

'Man... I don't want to be the reason they break up. Y'know, not if they'll still ... be ... in love. With each other.'

'And Rachel deserves to be with a great guy, doesn't she?'

Pain flickered across his face, then was swallowed. 'She does.'

'And Chandler's a great guy, isn't he?'

Silence.

'He's the best.'

'Well...' Monica, still sympathetic, squeezed his arm again. 'I think you should probably tell him that.'

ooOoo

Chandler replaced the receiver in its cradle, stood looking down at it thoughtfully.

'Chandler? Chandler.'

He started, turned, found Rachel looking up at him. She looked tiny curled up there in the Barcalounger's welcoming expanse of brown leather, a blanket pulled up to her chin.

'What did he say?'

Chandler ran a hand through his hair. 'I think, I _think_ that Ross just sort of gave us his blessing.'

Her eyebrows went up. 'Really?'

'Yeah... It was weird. I mean, I'm glad, but ... still. Weird. But I think it's going to be okay.'

She smiled at him, all soft eyes and messy hair around her face. 'So... This is us.'

'Looks like. You, uh, you want to go out? Celebrate?'

Her head tilted. 'You know what? This has been one of the most emotionally draining days of my life; and all I want to do is curl up with my boyfriend and watch stupid movies.'

His lips curled into a smile. 'We can do that.'

She made room for him in the Barcalounger, giving him some of the blanket. He kept his arm around her shoulders, feeling her settle into him, aware of the contours that fit into his, astounded once more by the naturalness of it. He pressed his cheek against the top of her head, breathed in the scent of vanilla and coconut.

'Hey, Rach.'

'Uh-huh?'

'You know that-that thing you said earlier? To Ross?'

'I said a lot of stuff, sweetie.'

'I mean about ... about you being in love. With me.'

'Oh... Oh, yeah, that.' She kept her gaze on the screen, sounding casual.

'Well, I just wanted you to know... I wanted to say...'

Rachel turned inquisitive eyes to him, her face tantalisingly close. 'Yes?'

'I love you, too.'

She observed him for a moment. 'Good.'

They watched each other. Rachel brushed her lips lightly against his; they smiled. She settled back against him, taking her rightful place; his hold around her tightened slightly, keeping her head close against his heart.

The End


	15. Author Note

**Author Note:**

First, a huge thank-you to everyone who has read this fic - you are awesome. Second, an even bigger thank-you to the even more awesome people who commented; some of you have been reviewing every step of the way and I really appreciate your input. This has been my first fic for _Friends_, it's been a blast to write and the support of all of you has been awe-inspiring.

I have a tendency to put together 'soundtracks' for the fics I write - a collection of tunes that would be heard on screen if this were actually being watched instead of read. If you are interested, it is available to download, after the usual prefixes, here: megaupload(dot)com/?d=JA68GRH2


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